


Discretion and Restraint

by notavodkashot



Series: Discretion and Restraint [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Byakuya's family tree makes Renji's head hurt like nothing else in the world, Byakuya's temper is legendary, Eventual Romance, F/M, Kuukaku is terrifying, M/M, Renji's lost control of his life, Rukia is only marginally less so, Zaraki has infuriatingly spot on insights, clean up after a war is never tidy or pretty but by god Yamamoto is gonna try, everyone really did think the battle against Aizen was it, set during the time skip, tangent spoilers for the final arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 109,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6796588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notavodkashot/pseuds/notavodkashot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Kurosaki Ichigo effectively removed from the picture, after Aizen's defeat, Zaraki Kenpachi has shifted his sights to the next best thing. Abarai Renji wishes more than anything in the world that said “thing” was not Kuchiki Byakuya.</p><p>Or at the very least, that Byakuya himself would stop <em>encouraging</em> him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Personal Amusements

**Author's Note:**

  * For [temporalDecay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporalDecay/gifts).



> For Fi, who's been whining about her OTP for ages and has successfully dragged me along into Bleach hell, once more.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji tries his best to deal with all these newfound similarities between his current Captain and the previous one.

  


* * *

  


I – Personal Amusements. 

  


* * *

  


Abarai Renji was, if nothing else, loyal to a fault. 

He stared up at the wall of reiatsu with outward impassiveness that belied a bottomless pit of resignation in his gut. He did, however, take a moment to marvel the fact he was still standing, despite the pressure having driven the entirety of his Division to the ground. Every once in a while, Renji found himself confronted with the fact that he _was_ stronger now, than he'd been prior, and the revelation never ceased to make him want to grin. A grin in the current situation would be a terrible mistake, though, as it could be easily taken for a challenge. And while Renji was infinitely proud of how strong he'd become, as of late, he was in no hurry to commit assisted suicide via his increasingly unamused ex-Captain. 

Because that was who was standing in the doorway of the building – too damn tall to fit through the doorway, apparently – and glowering at Renji with a considering look that was disturbingly snake-like. 

“Come again?” Zaraki Kenpachi, Captain of the Eleventh, boomed irritably as Renji swayed just a tad under the weight of that abrupt reiatsu spike. “Abarai, don't fuck with me.” 

“Wouldn't dream of it, Zaraki-taicho,” Renji said, straight face firmly in place, and offered a placating shrug. “Kuchiki-taicho is... unavailable at the moment.” 

More like barricaded in his office and leaving Renji to deal with Zaraki, because he was an absolute jerkfuck and Renji would totally tell him to his face, were it not for the fact that he'd come to be rather attached to all his limbs. Renji was fairly sure Byakuya was messing with him, by ordering him to make sure he remained undisturbed, considering Zaraki had been grinning at Byakuya pretty much since the moment Yamamoto-soutaicho had declared the war over and the victory indisputably theirs. Hell, Renji was pretty damn certain Byakuya didn't actually expect him to succeed in that endeavor, considering this was Zaraki and he was looking for a fight. 

But Renji was Renji, and if nothing else, he was going to _try_. 

“Unavailable,” Zaraki growled, and somewhere in the background, Renji could hear his Ninth Seat choke on a tiny, panicked whimper. “ _Unavailable_.” Zaraki looked like he might just blow up the entire building in a fit of temper, which Renji knew he was more than capable of doing, but instead he snarled in disgust. “Che. Tell Kuchiki-hime to come find me after he's done looking for his goddamn _spine_.” 

Renji stared. And then stared some more. And while he tried to piece together which had him the most shocked – the mental image that had sprung into being, undeterred, at the honorific, or the implication that his Captain was a _coward_ – Zaraki turned and left without another word. 

“And yet again I underestimate you, Renji,” Byakuya said, suddenly standing behind Renji, watching Zaraki disappear behind the wide doors of the Division barracks. His reiatsu was so tightly cloaked Renji had legitimately not felt when he'd appeared. “My apologies for that,” he added, before Renji could blurt out the string of profanity currently building up in his throat, “I shall endeavor to break that habit.” 

Well fuck you too, Renji thought embarrassedly, a faint flush crawling across his nose, because Byakuya went ahead and gave him the tiniest amused smile to punctuate that statement. 

“Keh, no big deal,” he replied, looking away as he tilted his chin up. “You order, I obey, Taicho, that's how it goes, right?” 

He looked over the corner of his eye, though, and found Byakuya's barely-there smile turned into a minuscule smirk that seemed to question that statement. Renji felt his face burn hotter. It wasn't his fault that his track record as a lieutenant had Kurosaki Ichigo and his giant fucking mess stuck in it. It wasn't like he enjoyed being insubordinate and refusing to follow orders as he should. Not really. But things had been complicated and he and Byakuya had an understanding, now, because Renji wanted above all to earn his Captain's respect and he knew being an insufferable asshole was not the way to do so. Well, he knew that now, at least, he hadn't been quite sure, before, when he first entered his service. 

And Byakuya had been... different, before. Harder on everyone and everything, for no real reason other than he could, and always hiding behind a curtain of indolent and disapproving sneers. Proof of how much he wasn't who he'd been, Renji thought fondly, was that Byakuya turned around and studied the shinigami under his command as they slowly tried to crawl back upright and put themselves together after the brutal onslaught of Zaraki's reiatsu. Before Ichigo – and Aizen and Rukia and Hueco Mundo and all the horrible, astounding things in between – Renji knew Byakuya would have delivered a speech about his disappointment in his men and how weakness like that was not to be tolerated in the Sixth. Instead, Byakuya sighed softly and addressed the room with an even voice and a surprisingly non-disappointed look on his face. 

“I am afraid the Captain of the Eleventh will take some time to give up his current obsession,” he said, resigned, “and while it is solely my fault for indulging it, you must continue to endure its consequences. If nothing else,” he added, with that faint amusement that still freaked out two thirds of the Sixth, whenever it reared its weird, unheard of before head into Byakuya's voice, “I expect the experience will make you stronger in the long run.” 

“So there you have it, kids,” Renji said, after the prerequisite pause to make sure Byakuya was done addressing their Division. “New training regime, in lieu of having our entire freaking barracks totaled. Carry on.” 

Because Renji got it, anyway. Renji had seen the fight in Hueco Mundo. Renji was still not sure how Hueco Mundo – and himself, and everyone else still there with him at the time – had survived said fight. But he was not in a hurry to see the rematch happen, of all places, in his backyard. He marveled at the pulse of possessiveness that assaulted him as he followed Byakuya back to his office, nodding at the now determined faces of the various shinigami they walked past. He couldn't quite tell, precisely, when the Sixth had become so important to him, but he knew it to be, now. The Sixth was not a stepping stone, in his goal to conquer Kuchiki Byakuya in battle. The Sixth was _his_ , just like Zabimaru and his tattoos, and Renji was feral and vicious when it came to defending what he deemed his own. 

He closed the door behind him and as Byakuya went to sit behind his desk, Renji moved to the tea waiting on the side table and set about to serve them without asking or waiting for the order. He would personally prefer something stronger than tea, all things considered, but he was lieutenant of the Sixth, not the Eleventh. One did not attend to official business in the Sixth while hooting drunk, no matter how much one deserved it. 

“It will not be forever,” Byakuya told him, without looking at him, as Renji placed the cup on its usual place by his elbow. Renji blinked as slate grey eyes peered at him for a moment, before his Captain reached out to take the offered tea. “Zaraki. It will not be forever.” There was that tiny smile again, only it was sharper now. Dangerous. Renji felt sweat sliding down the back of his neck. “I should be done with the day's work soon enough, then I will discuss the terms with him, until he understands them.” 

Renji choked on his tea. 

“ _What?_ ” 

“Unlike him,” Byakuya went on, completely missing the point of Renji's reaction, “I know better than to allow my personal amusements to interfere with my responsibilities.” 

“Personal... amusements...” Renji muttered, staring at his Captain as he pulled the top sheet off the stack of paperwork in the desk. 

He remembered the fight that downed Yammy like a sack of bricks. And he remembered the fight after _that_. Zaraki-taicho would have definitely called that an amusement, alright, but Renji was entirely unprepared to handle something like that coming out of Kuchiki Byakuya's mouth. 

“Renji,” those slate eyes, sharp like Senbonzakura's edge, pinned him in place in a way that made him panic for a second and wonder what he'd fucked up now. “The report.” 

“The repo--” It took Renji another second to unstuck the gears in his head. “Oh. Oh! Well...” 

As he fell into the familiar lull of his mental checklist as he informed Byakuya of the current status of the Sixth, Renji found himself relaxing. This, he could do. This was _easy_. Well, alright, not easy-easy, like fighting, but he knew exactly how it had to go and it involved absolutely no guesswork whatsoever. And it certainly didn't involve disturbing thoughts about hitherto undiscovered similarities between his ex-Captain and the current one. As Renji talked about progress in the unseated forces of the Sixth, summary results of the assigned tasks of the seated officers and his own not-insubstantial list of chores around their barracks, Byakuya continued working in silence. 

In the beginning, Renji had felt very frustrated by having his Captain seemingly ignore him as he tried his best to show he was indeed worthy of the rank he'd attained and that he could very well function like a respectable member of the Sixth. He'd worked very hard, those first few weeks as lieutenant, to prove he was not just a thug from the Eleventh or a rabid beast from Inuzuri. And he'd been very, very angry at his Captain seeming indifference with his work. He knew better, now. It wasn't that Byakuya was ignoring him or dismissing his work; he simply found it more efficient to continue working on his own share of paperwork, while listening to Renji's updates. And he listened, too. In the past, he would correct Renji if he messed up anything, or give him new orders to cascade down the hierarchy of the Division. 

These days, Renji prided himself in getting through the morning report without interruption and took it as its own kind of praise, the unspoken acknowledgment that he knew damn well how to do his job without his Captain needing to hold his hand through it. He drank the last of his tea as he finished, pausing to see if he was going to receive new orders. When no word came from Byakuya, Renji gave a mental shrug, the morning ordeal all but forgotten, and gathered his own pile of paperwork. 

  


* * *

  


Kuchiki Byakuya did not walk to places. He _strolled_. Occasionally, he landed into the battlefield. And when he really, really wanted to get somewhere, _fast_ , he would simply shunpo into where he needed to be. 

Zaraki Kenpachi was halfway falling asleep, overlooking the boring ass fights of unseated officers trying to build themselves up to challenge someone with actual rank, when Kuchiki Byakuya appeared before him, two feet off the floor. His back was bowed forward, so his face aligned with Zaraki's, expression that same bland, bored mask he wore all the time. 

But, Zaraki noted, in the split second it took his reiatsu to roar through his veins, his eyes were _gleaming_. 

“Yo, Kuchiki-hime,” Zaraki said, before slashing through the after image of Byakuya's shunpo. “Found your spine?” 

“ _Scatter_ ,” Byakuya replied, his own reiatsu howling around him, barely audible over the stampede of shinigami vacating the premises posthaste. 

They were members of the Eleventh Division, after all. They enjoyed fighting and watching a good fight as anyone else, but they knew better than most, that some fights you ought to watch from a distance. 

  


* * *

  


Renji turned around the corner of the corridor leading to the mess hall, intent on catching lunch, when he saw the explosion of telltale pink and yellow reiatsu across the city. 

The aftershocks came seconds later, strong enough to make the earth shake under his feet. 

“They wouldn't _dare_...” He began, staring dumbfounded at the light show of destruction in the distance. 

Then he remembered who he was talking about and realized that they very much would. 

Had, in fact. 

With a loud curse, Renji took off as fast as his feet could take him. 

  


* * *

  


In the end, by the time Renji got there, the fight had already ended. Well, had already _been_ ended. He jumped out of the way and bowed respectfully as Unohana-taicho walked past him, soft smile tugging at her lips, and felt shivers run up and down his spine until she moved round the corner and disappeared from his vision. 

Renji wasn't halfway standing up straight again, when Byakuya briskly walked past him. 

“...Taicho?” 

Byakuya stopped enough to give Renji a look over his shoulder. Renji stared at the deplorable state of his clothes and the fact that every bit that didn't seem to be torn was indisputably drenched in _blood_. And yet for a moment there, Renji swore Byakuya's mouth was pulled into a fiercely satisfied _smile_ that was eerily familiar. 

It only took Renji a moment to realize he was used to seeing such an expression on his ex-Captain, not the current one. 

“Is something the matter, Renji?” Byakuya asked, voice the same imperturbable monotone as ever, though Renji was sure there was a shade of annoyance buried somewhere in it. 

“Dunno, sir, _is_ there?” Renji found himself asking, almost a taunt, as he frowned at his Captain. 

“Not at all,” Byakuya replied resolutely, and then started once more the brisk stroll home. 

Renji felt the hair on the back of his hair stand on end, and looked sharply to the source of his unease. Zaraki Kenpachi was leaning on the doorway of his barracks, clothes torn and hundreds of tiny cuts bleeding along his skin. His smile did not surprise Renji in the slightest, however. 

“Scram,” the Captain of the Eleventh growled, baring his teeth warningly at Renji, “unless you're here to take his place.” 

Renji went. 

  


* * *

  


“Abarai-fukutaicho, a word, if you please.” 

Renji really didn't please, but he was not feeling particularly suicidal. He ducked his head and approached the terrifying Captain of the Fourth as calmly as he could. She smiled at him gently, so gently he wondered if he was going to spontaneously combust. 

“What can I do for you, Taicho?” He asked, instead, with his very best manners and refused to give into the indignity of fidgeting like a guilty child. 

Unohana-taicho just had that effect on people. 

“I have spoken with Kuchiki-taicho, about the importance of taking care of himself until his wounds from the battles in Hueco Mundo heal completely,” she said, and in his head Renji tried and failed to imagine how that particular conversation might have played out. “Alas, you can imagine he did not take it kindly. Perhaps if it is you who reminds him, on my behalf?” Her smile sharpened by degrees, but Renji found he could sort of breathe properly again. “At the very least remind him it is his duty as Captain to you, to not cripple himself senselessly over a childish spat.” 

Yumichika had told Renji a fourth of the Eleventh's barracks lay in shambles, as he grumbled bitterly about being the poor sod roped into fixing it, considering everyone else was too busy getting drunk and gushing about the fight that had caused the damage. He had, in fact, threatened to demand the Sixth footed the bill for the repairs, and Renji thought he'd been only half joking about it. 

That, in his mind, did not amount to a _childish spat_. 

But again with not being suicidal, so he kept his mouth tightly shut and merely nodded. 

  


* * *

  


Renji set the tray on Byakuya's desk and slowly sorted out the contents, sitting himself on the edge without a second thought. Byakuya used to berate him for that, he remembered fondly, calling it undignified and crass. Renji felt entitled, though, considering the day he'd had. Sometimes, he couldn't help but aim to push at his Captain's buttons, if only for the pleasure of evening out his mental score of annoyances. 

“I just want to know if it's going to be a thing,” he said, after a while. When Byakuya turned from his contemplation of the window to look at him with a frown, Renji gave into the urge to roll his eyes. “Your... personal amusements, with Zaraki-taicho,” Renji clarified. “It's been barely a week now since the war ended, things are starting to settle. I want to know if this is going to be a regular thing, so I can fit it in the schedule.” 

“You disapprove,” Byakuya said, coming to take his seat and not even noticing Renji's impertinent sitting on his desk. 

“It's not my place to approve or disapprove,” Renji shot back, shrugging awkwardly. He had no idea what the look on Byakuya's face meant: the pursed lips were usually a bad sign, but he hadn't been reprimanded for anything yet, and very tellingly, Byakuya's shoulders were not as tense as they could be, when willing to give Renji a lecture on propriety. “I just want to know where you stand, so I know how to handle people with _opinions_ on the matter.” He paused. Then smirked almost playfully. “And if we need to set up a permanent repairs fund.” 

“Whether it is your place or not has never mattered to you before,” Byakuya retorted, surveying his desk through half-lidded eyes, “you disapprove.” He looked up at Renji, then, careful to meet his eyes as he spoke. “I would have thought you'd understand, the pleasure in finding someone worth hating.” 

Renji found himself staring at his Captain for the umpteenth time that day. Did... did Byakuya had seriously just compared his relationship with Zaraki, with Renji's own relationship with him? Was he aware of all he was implying in that? Or was he just trying to phrase things in a way that would make Renji more sympathetic to his newfound pastime? Because yes, Renji disapproved. Renji disapproved a lot. The feeling felt like a betrayal of his past as a member of the Eleventh, but Renji reminded himself sharply that he was now – and hopefully forever – a member of the Sixth. There was nothing noble or reasonable, about Kuchiki-taicho's sudden desire to indulge Zaraki-taicho. 

And, if Renji were to be completely honest with himself, there was also a flare of irrational jealousy gnawing at his insides at the thought. 

Because if Kuchiki Byakuya wanted a fight that badly, he could damn well fight _Renji_. 

“I don't hate you, Taicho,” Renji snapped before he could stop himself, clicking his tongue reprovingly. “I wouldn't serve you, if I did, because I wouldn't die for a man I hate.” Renji shrugged, shifting back to the topic at hand. “But I guess it _will_ be a thing, then.” 

“Perhaps,” Byakuya conceded after a moment. “Though I am not one for overindulgence. You have nothing to worry about, Renji.” 

With all due respect, Renji wanted to call bullshit on that last bit. But he didn't. He slid off the desk and headed for the door. He paused, though, and looked over his shoulder at his Captain, smirk hanging off his mouth. 

“I guess it's a good thing, though, if you're so interested in sharpening your skills,” he said, refusing to be intimidated by Byakuya's stern look, “means I must be dangerously close to catching up.” 

“Good _day_ , Abarai-fukutaicho,” Byakuya snapped, but something in his tone made Renji feel he wasn't mad, per se. 

It was more like fond exasperation, if anything, and Renji knew he wasn't doing anything to dispel it by snickering as he complied with the order. 

  


* * *

  


He was no longer laughing, however, as he found a formal request from the Eleventh to shoulder at the very least half the cost of the damages their Captains' roughhousing had caused, all in Yumichika's annoyingly smooth script. 

  


* * *

  



	2. Rumors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji and Byakuya have a long, obnoxious day. Zaraki continues to be shrewd, much to Unohana's annoyance. And trouble begins brewing as it becomes obvious that, though Aizen himself has been defeated, there are still many loose ends left about.

  


* * *

  


II - Rumors 

  


* * *

  


“I've changed my mind,” Renji said, so far past glowering his dead-eyed stare bore metaphorical holes into Byakuya's head. “My hatred for you is beyond words.” 

He'd gotten lectured – _lectured_ – on irresponsible and wanton destruction of public and private property. 

By three Captains and four fellow lieutenants. 

Ukitake-taicho had been the worst of it, giving him a doe-eyed sad face full of disappointment that made Renji splutter and choke on his tongue too much to properly fight off the detailed assassination of his character. At least Komamura-taicho had growled more than talked, when he caught Renji doing his clean up rounds before the morning shift change in the Sixth, so Renji had been mostly too asleep still to really grasp the whole thing. But Hitsugaya-taicho had really let him have it, threatening to ban him entirely from the vicinity of the Tenth unless he got a hold of his own temper. 

By comparison, Nanao, Shuuhei, Momo and Kira ganging up on him had been... almost endurable. Complete and absolute _bullshit_ , thank you very much, but still bearable. 

Almost. 

Renji had managed to escape them if only to track down his Captain and let him know it was fucking unacceptable to let Renji shoulder the blame for his own damn pastimes. 

“Is it lunchtime already?” Byakuya asked, instead of acknowledging the furious glowering display Renji had put on for his sake. 

The entire left side of Renji's face _twitched_. 

He took a deep breath. 

Then another. 

All through it out, as he tried – so hard – to put a lid on his temper, Byakuya stared at him impassively, face a careful mask of indifference. It wasn't really helping much, but Renji managed. He always managed. Finally, when he found himself no longer grinding his teeth so hard he couldn't speak, he turned around and threw the door open hard enough it was a sheer miracle he didn't just pull it out of its hinges. 

“I,” he said, sheer boiling irritation coiling in his gut, “am going to go ground the unseated to a fine paste, until I feel better or one of them unlocks shikai.” There was a pause. “Enjoy your lunch, _Taicho_.” 

Perhaps, Byakuya thought, somewhat crossed at himself as he frowned at the door that had miraculously survived the brutal assault, the offer had been too subtle for Renji to grasp. 

Then he sighed, a moment later, because _of course_ it would be too subtle for Renji. He personally blamed what stench of the Eleventh still remained in Renji – and thus, Zaraki's fault, roundabout but fair, Byakuya thought fiercely – for his lieutenant's sorely lacking perceptive abilities. It wasn't like the redhead was stupid. Imprudent and rude and hopelessly stubborn? Of course, those were some of Renji's best and most amusing qualities, in Byakuya's opinion. But never stupid. He'd just never been trained for it, the way Byakuya had been. And serving among Zaraki's pack of wild dogs had probably done him no good in that regard, either. 

After all, Byakuya conceded grumpily, it wasn't like Zaraki was stupid, either. But he was hardly fit to teach anyone how to be the sort of observant and sly that Byakuya was used to trading barbs with. 

Byakuya thought of golden eyes and purple hair and an obnoxious laugh that sent shivers down his spine. 

And he'd heard the rumors, of course. He'd anticipated them. Senbonzakura wasn't done bouncing off Zaraki's unnamed blade for the first time, and he could already guess the scandal. He hadn't cared, at the time. Truth be told, he still couldn't find it in himself to care. Not about the things that would be said about himself, at the very least. He knew who he was and what he fought for and in the wake of Aizen's defeat, as the cloud of euphoria slowly settled down in Seireitei, Kuchiki Byakuya was hard pressed to find in himself the will to go back to the subdued, grey reality he'd lived in after Hisana died. Somewhere along the way, he'd bled and fought and conquered, and while he wasn't looking, the world filled up with color of unrivaled vibrancy. 

He'd noted, as if in a dream, just how bright Renji's hair really was, or how sharp Zaraki's smirks could be. He'd felt air coil into the deepest recesses of his lungs and his own reiatsu electrify every last strand of hair. He'd felt powerful and alive, like he hadn't been in decades, and when the dust settled, he'd found himself ferally unwilling to give any of it up. 

The rationalizations were still there, of course, buried somewhere in the back of his mind, but they were quieter, now. Easier to manipulate or outright ignore. Pride and honor had redefined themselves without him noticing, and the balancing act that had seemed so overwhelming, when he'd seen Rukia wrapped in white and walking to her death, seemed... gentler, now. Less like two swords biting into his sides and slowly constricting life out of him, and more like a warm fire coiling in his heart. The boundaries were clearer and wider, now, and Byakuya had no intention of letting them shrink and cave in on him again, not without a fight. 

But he had not intended for Renji to shoulder any of the consequences for his actions; that, he found unacceptable. 

And the fact people had somehow found a way to blame Renji for Byakuya's admittedly reckless indulgence with Zaraki had annoyed him deeply. He could, if he forced himself to ignore all knowledge about his lieutenant – and that knowledge Byakuya found himself hoarding a little more each day – see how Renji's public image would lend itself to the idea that he'd be reckless and irresponsible enough to wreck havoc for havoc's sake. Renji was big and intimidating, with a certain air Byakuya would best describe as _thugish_ , on first impressions. But anyone who spent five minutes in Renji's presence would need to be purposely obtuse to not realize that Renji was easygoing and friendly without trying, and always thoughtful about his responsibilities. 

No one had been hurt, in the skirmish at the Eleventh, though Byakuya had sincerely not noticed the sheer amount of destruction they'd wrecked with that little spar. Renji had. Renji had called him out on it, in that roundabout way of his, careful not to challenge his authority but making his displeasure pretty well known. 

And people were blaming the whole thing on Renji, because they refused to believe someone as prestigious and important like Kuchiki Byakuya could find such pleasure in wanton violence. 

Renji, who filed reports diligently and never made the same mistake twice. 

_Renji_ , who would sooner _cut off a hand_ than slack off his duties as lieutenant. 

Byakuya was going to have _words_ with anyone that passed along those stupid rumors. 

  


* * *

  


“They've done fucked up now,” Zaraki singsonged, lying on his side was he balanced a cup of sake in one hand. “Kuchiki-hime's pissed.” 

Retsu shrugged delicately, sitting on a rock nearby. She watched the corridor that lead to the First, high above the garden they were in, and pursed her lips somewhat as Byakuya stormed away from where Ukitake and Kyouraku were left standing awkwardly. 

One didn't need to hear the words to know they hadn't been pleasant. 

“Captains do not take slander against their men lightly,” she said, before taking a small sip of her own drink. “At least, they should not.” 

“Hard to say if he's pissed as a Captain, right now,” Zaraki pointed out, absently scratching his side, “or if he's just angry someone hurt his boyfriend's feelings.” 

“Zaraki,” Retsu said sharply, although she did not really raise her voice at all. 

Zaraki shrugged. 

“What,” he asked, giving her a dark scowl, “I've got eyes.” 

And I know desperate pinning when I see it, he did not add, but she heard it anyway. 

“You're drunk,” she noted, as if to excuse his commentary, and did not meet his eyes when he sneered at her. 

“Maybe,” he conceded after a moment, dropping his gaze to the empty cup in his hand, “but not blind.” 

Her eyes lifted to study the scar that cut down his face and a small, secretive smile that would have sent the entirety of the Gotei 13 shrieking away in fear settled on her lips. No, he wasn't blind, but it had been a damn near thing, that. 

“You must stop picking on the boy,” Retsu said, once the moment passed, and slid off her perch gracefully, so she could refill his cup. “Yamamoto-soutaicho will not be amused, when he finds out.” 

“Yamamoto-soutaicho,” Zaraki said, in a mocking tone, “will just have to fucking _deal_. Like he does with everything else.” 

Everyone else, he meant, and for a moment there, Retsu's eyes were sharp and dangerous enough Zaraki felt the urge to lunge at her and rip out her throat with his own damn teeth. Instead he took the bottle from her fingers and filled her cup in return, effectively declaring the discussion over so they could go back to pretending drinking sake made old scars throb less. 

“Such a terrible habit of yours,” Retsu said, capitulating as she stared at her hands cradling the cup, and his hand suddenly cradling hers, “being shrewd, Zaraki-taicho, it is _not_ endearing.” 

Zaraki laughed as her hands slid off his and she took a small sip of her drink. 

“Name _one_ fucking thing about me that's endearing,” he cackled, and then leered down at her with his mouth pulled into a wide, savage grin. “Besides the obvious one.” 

Said obvious thing in question was giggling in delight all across the garden, chasing after an increasingly distressed mass of hell butterflies that called the reishi-rich flower bed home. 

Unohana Retsu was, if nothing else, wise enough to keep the logical retort to herself. 

  


* * *

  


When Renji said he was going to grind the unseated members of the Sixth into a fine paste, he'd meant exactly that. He studied the crowd of tired and terrified shinigami as he lightly bounced the bokken on his shoulder, trying to decide who to strike next. The fact he'd chosen to forgo his own zanpakuto for this little exercise was a statement on its own, though frankly it'd been more out of concern that, given the sheer amount of fury coiling in his gut, he would end up accidentally hurting some dumbass, hapless kid before they knew what hit them. After all, it'd been a good two hours of demoralizing the rank and file of his Division and putting the fear of him in them, and Renji was still stewing. 

It just pissed him off, how easily people took those shitty rumors for granted. People who should know better, even. And then, there was the fact he was getting blamed for shit his Captain had done, because of course Kuchiki Byakuya was not a violent beast, Renji was. _Obviously_. 

Renji wasn't dumb, he knew what he looked like. Hell, he'd _chosen_ to emphasize what he looked like, with the tattoos and the hair, and he owned his scowling features like it was his job. He'd grown up into a lumbering lamppost that towered over pretty much all his fellow lieutenants, except Omeada, and that was just because Omaeda was cartoonishly proportional, size-wise. He'd never been small, even as a kid – that honor had always been Rukia's, much to her chagrin – but he'd learned fast, that being big was often good enough to be mistaken for being strong, and in Inuzuri, that could be the difference between life and death. So early on, he'd decided, if nothing else, to look the part of the fearsome warrior he'd always wanted to be. 

But, and this Renji had also learned early, strength and stupidity were not the same thing. And when he joined the Academy and refused to fall to the jeering and mocking that followed him everywhere he went, he'd promised himself to learn how to be smart. Renji wasn't a talented genius, and he knew it, but he was proud of his abilities and the skills he'd amassed over the decades after the Academy. He'd gone from goon from the Eleventh to lieutenant of the Sixth, for crying out loud, and he'd endeavored to be the best fucking lieutenant the Sixth had ever had. 

And still, people saw him dwarfing everyone around him and then noticed the tattoos, and summarily dismissed him as dumb muscle without a care. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. 

“There's always going to be someone stronger,” Renji told the unseated, mouth tugged downward in an unhappy line. “It's okay to accept that,” he went on as he brought the bokken down and slid his feet slightly apart, preparing to strike. In response, several dozen unnamed zanpakuto shifted in their owners' hands, bracing for impact. “But that's never an excuse to not work harder, fight better, _be_ stronger. If you don't understand that, you have no damn business in the Sixth.” 

A girl with short, dark green hair leaped out at him at that, and Renji flashed her a pleased grin even as he blocked the strike with the bokken. Then he flicked his wrist and shoved her back with enough strength to send her skidding back a few feet. There was a moment of indecision, before the group threw themselves at him at once. It wasn't exactly better than when he'd fought them one on one, but they were at least trying. And even if they didn't have the physical strength, Renji could tell they had worked themselves up to have the determination to try. That's all he really needed, so that when he started training them in earnest, they'd take it as a challenge, rather than a punishment. 

He was still pissed as hell, but it would be mean to negate his Division's hard work because of it. The kids deserved better. 

The same girl who'd attacked him first picked herself off the ground, panting harshly as Renji worked on incapacitating or disarming the rest of the group, a thoughtful look on her face. She swallowed hard and looked down at her sword before stabbing it to the ground. Then she threw her hands up, pointing at Renji. 

"Ye lord! Mask of blood and flesh, all creation, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of Man! Inferno and pandemonium, the sea barrier surges, march on to the south!" Renji looked up when he felt the pick up in her reiatsu. “Hado #31, Shakkaho!” 

It wasn't the most impressive display of kido that Renji had ever seen, clearly, since the kid was young and not very strong herself. But Renji still smirked as the ball of red light sped towards him, and he was still smirking when he flared his reiatsu enough to block it with the bokken. When the dust settled, after the explosion, the shinigami scattered around Renji looked at him expectantly, unsure of how he'd react. The girl swallowed hard as he snorted. 

“To be fair,” he said, “I never did say kido wasn't allowed in practice today.” He leaped at her though, and she barely had enough time to pluck her zanpakuto from the ground to block a hit from the bokken. “We might make something out of you lot, yet.” 

He could tell they were exhausted but, Renji noted with pride, they picked themselves up and settled into position readily. They studied him carefully, as if weighting what to do next. So Renji decided maybe another hour of practice before letting them have the rest of the day off would be fine. 

They leaped. 

He grinned, and endeavored to forget why he was angry in the first place. 

  


* * *

  


“Welcome back, Kurotsuchi-taicho!” 

Mayuri ignored the lines of shinigami bowing to him in greeting as he walked out of the Garganta, Nemu walking close behind him. He stopped, however, in front of Akon. 

“Did you notice it?” He asked, looking down at his 3rd seat with an unreadable expression on his face, eyes narrowed. 

“Yes, Taicho, but,” Akon licked his lips, “but it disappeared as soon as it crossed over. We're still trying to pinpoint its location, but it's proven no easy task.” 

Mayuri didn't seem mad, which only made Akon more nervous than he already was. 

“Has Yamamoto-soutaicho recovered?” He asked instead, then, without waiting for an answer, started walking again. “It doesn't matter. Nemu, arrange an audience with him, regardless.” 

Nemu bowed her head. 

“Yes, Mayuri-sama.” 

  


* * *

  


The cero took Renji completely by surprise. 

It wasn't the power behind it, because it was certainly puny in comparison to all the punishment he'd endured, in Hueco Mundo, but it was unmistakably a cero. The training grounds in the Sixth Division were wide and open enough, hidden away behind the main office complex. Renji had chosen this particular corner out of petty spite because the window from Byakuya's office overlooked the field. He found himself thrown along by the power of the cero, slamming into a wall and feeling it crack all around him. Through the resulting dust cloud, Renji saw a thin figure dressed in telltale white, with the remnants of a mask wrapped like a collar around their neck and a shock of bright purple hair. It wasn't anyone he'd met, in Hueco Mundo, but there was absolutely no doubt about _what_ they were. 

“You're not the one,” the arrancar said, voice mercurial and hard to pin down, looking down at Renji with visible disdain. “I followed the scent, but you're not the one. You're too _weak_.” 

What little good mood Renji had managed to amass, training with his Division, pretty much evaporated all at once. Because speaking of things that people took for granted about him, besides him being dumb and irresponsible, being weak was always the next conclusion, somehow. And Renji was not going to have some puny arrancar shit come into his own damn home and tell him that. 

“Che, you're talkative,” Renji said, pulling himself up with a smirk as he dropped the bokken and went for Zabimaru's hilt. “The kids in the Twelfth are gonna love that.” 

The mysterious arrancar opened their mouth to counter that, but Renji released his spiritual pressure and the ground itself shook as his reiatsu flooded the air. Renji saw the shinigami under his command driven to the ground by the display, and decided to end the would-be fight as quickly as possible. 

“ _Howl_ , Zabimaru.” 

It was over in three strikes. By then, though, there were members of the Second skulking about and Renji could feel the approach of at least three Captains, too. 

“Renji.” 

He looked up to see Byakuya walking up to him with his usual brisk pace. He wondered if he was in trouble. He was tired and cranky and he swore to anything holy that if Byakuya tried to lecture him on something, he might just collapse into a singularity of profanity. 

“I'll take it from here,” was all Byakuya said, as he continued past him, to address the invader, now in strong kido restraints, courtesy of the Second, and the Captains standing on the walls surrounding the Sixth. He paused, though, just enough to look at him over his shoulder. “Well done.” 

And just like that, Renji marveled, the day became one of the best in memory: the first time in his life that Kuchiki Byakuya deigned acknowledge he'd done a good job. 

“C'mon,” he said, after he found his voice, turning to the group of shinigami staring up at him with a mixture of fear and respect. “Let's get you lot sorted out while Kuchiki-taicho deals with the rest.” 

There were more than a few that looked like they wanted to argue, but the strain of the day's training had taken their toll and Renji was able to herd them back into the barracks without much fuss. 

  


* * *

  


Byakuya did not return to the Sixth before nightfall, though. Renji waited for him well after the guard shift had finished and the mess hall was closed. He refused to go back to his quarters without speaking with his Captain first, so he stayed in the office, half-heartedly working on paperwork and mostly just staring out the window as he waited. 

He wished Rukia were back from the World of the Living, if only because she'd wait with him until Byakuya returned, though given why she was staying – and why she'd been _allowed_ to stay – Renji felt incredibly selfish about that urge. 

It was near midnight before the door opened and Renji pulled himself up to attention. 

“Taicho.” 

Byakuya looked surprised to find him there, and then after a moment, almost... _pleased_. Mostly he looked far more tired than Renji had ever seen him before. 

“I did not expect the matter to extend itself as it did, but it has been resolved now,” Byakuya gave Renji a piercing look, “more so, certain... misconceptions about events in the past two days have been corrected with those who were suffering under them.” 

“Sir?” 

“Read the report in the morning, Renji,” Byakuya said, a little testily as he sat behind his desk, “it has been a thoroughly long day.” 

Renji knew that was his cue to leave, but for some reason he didn't want to. He waited a moment longer, trying to sort out his thoughts, before he sighed. 

“Good night, Taicho,” he said instead of anything more outrageous, like offering Byakuya to join him for a drink they both seemed to need so badly, “I will see you in the morning.” 

“Yes,” Byakuya replied, already pulling a fresh sheet of paper in front of him. He paused, brush in the air, and risked a look at his lieutenant as he reached for the door. “And Renji?” When the redhead looked over his shoulder at him, Byakuya allowed himself a small, pleased smile. “Truly, well done, today.” 

Renji flushed, even as he put on a practiced smug face. 

“Che, it's my job, Taicho,” but he would not meet Byakuya's eyes even as he spoke. 

Byakuya hummed in the back of his throat, clearly amused by the display. 

“Good night, Renji.” 

And for the moment, at least, that was that. 

  


* * *

  



	3. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Yamamoto-soutaicho recovers enough to hold audience with his Captains and take stock of the aftermath of the war, Byakuya and Renji come to a decision about the future. Meanwhile, Kyouraku and Ukitake gossip heartily and Zaraki is fed up with everything.

  


* * *

  


III – Preparations 

  


* * *

  


“We apologize for the misunderstanding!” 

Renji blinked, scratching the back of his neck as his fellow lieutenants bowed and chorused the apology in unison. Nanao looked sheepish about the whole thing, but Momo, Kira and Shuuhei looked hassled and nervous, so Renji could only imagine what Kuchiki-taicho had said. 

Renji wasn't sure he could explain the feeling in his gut, about the revelation his Captain had gone out and actually challenged the rumors, demanding immediate restitution for the slander of his character. He'd already received a rather awkward apology from Hitsugaya-taicho, while he'd been out delivering the night report from the Sixth, and he was only grateful he'd been mostly asleep still, because otherwise he wasn't sure he would have been able to survive the scene. 

It was nice, in a way, to see his Captain show that he cared, in his own way. 

“Che,” he said, embarrassed and trying hard to ignore the slight flush crawling across his face, “it's no big deal.” 

“Kuchiki-taicho would certainly disagree,” Kira said quietly, expression wry. 

“Your Captain is terrifying, Renji,” Shuuhei agreed, shuddering a little. “Absolutely terrifying.” 

Momo merely nodded in agreement, staring at Renji with curiosity, as if wondering if she could get away with asking something, but then deciding not to, apparently, because she shrugged. Nanao pushed her glasses up her nose. 

“What I want to know,” she said, pinning Renji down with a heavy stare, “is if what he said is true.” The corridor fell silent as every eye fixed on Renji, eager for gossip. “Did Kuchiki-taicho really fight Zaraki-taicho?” 

Renji sighed. 

“Yes,” he rubbed his face with a hand. “Yes, he did. Look at our spending report this month, one fourth of the Eleventh. _One fourth_.” He shook his head. “And I need to start budgeting for that kind of thing, because he's apparently not going to stop, either.” 

“Terrifying,” Shuuhei repeated, grinning wryly. 

“You have no idea,” Renji muttered, but he was smiling fondly, as if amused despite it all. 

Rangiku popped her head into the corridor, stopping whatever Kira was about to say. 

“Oi, you lot ready? Sasakibe-fukutaicho is here, so the meeting is about to start.” 

They nodded their assent and shuffled into the room. Renji flashed Shuuhei a small smirk as his fellow lieutenant patted his back in sympathy. But the whole mess was forgotten as they got into the reports about recovery within their Divisions and the aftershocks of the war. 

At least until Yachiru, giggling in maniacal delight, brought up the need for better training grounds and everyone turned to look at Renji on reflex. Renji looked at the ceiling, and quietly promised himself to murder his Captain at some point. 

  


* * *

  


Captain meetings were one of the worst things about being a Captain, in Kuchiki Byakuya's not so humble opinion. 

They should have been a tool to coordinate efforts and make sure the forces of the Gotei 13 were administrated efficiently, but in reality they were just a broadcasting tool for all the incompetent morons that shared his rank. This impression was not being helped in the slightest by Zaraki and Mayuri bickering like children about what should be done with the Arrancar currently under custody of Sui-Feng, including the one Espada that somehow managed to survive the fight in Karakura town. 

Byakuya noticed, however, that Yamamoto-soutaicho didn't seem particularly concerned about that, instead being much more interested in the low level creature that had attacked Renji the day prior. He wondered what the old man was planning, but decided to keep his concerns to himself. As each Captain finished their report on the fight and the aftershocks they had been dealing with, in their Divisions, Byakuya felt another stab of annoyance as he noticed Kyouraku grinning at him in amusement. 

“That is enough,” the Captain Commander snapped, slamming his cane on the floor and causing the sound to echo in the audience hall. “Do you have anything to add, Tier Harribel?” 

The Captains stared in shock as the former Espada materialized in the back of the room. While she didn't look pleased to be in their presence, she also didn't seem terribly hostile at the moment, her spiritual pressure kept to a minimum. 

“Yamamoto-soutaicho!” Hitsugaya-taicho snapped, looking at the Captain Commander as if demanding an explanation. 

Yamamoto merely slammed his cane on the floor once more, his spirit pressure flickering enough as a warning. Harribel waited for the Captains to compose themselves somewhat, before speaking. 

“Yes,” she said, walking forward so she could address the assembly properly and ignoring the hands already clutching at zampakuto. She fixed her stare on Yamamoto. “The original invasion plan involved a two-step attack. Aizen,” and her voice filled with enough contempt to give everyone pause, “had intended the force in Karakura to delay and eventually destroy you, leaving Soul Society vulnerable for the forces of Hueco Mundo to invade undeterred under the command of Ulquiorra Cifer. While your forces in Hueco Mundo disbanded the secondary invasion force, however, it is entirely possible they failed to capture or neutralize Donquixote Andaluce. He has the ability to open Gargantas straight into Soul Society and would have guided that second invasion force as soon as Karakura had fallen.” Her eyes narrowed. “Andaluce is a spineless twit without any real power or the intelligence required to organize an invasion on his own. But he's very good at following orders.” She paused, meaningfully. “Right now, as we discussed, there is no one left in Hueco Mundo to control the hordes of hollows and Arrancars still lingering about, at least no one strong enough to subdue someone like me.” 

“We should correct that, then,” Yamamoto-soutaicho said, ignoring the stares of his Captains as Harribel bowed in deference. “Tier Harribel, as per the agreement we have made, Arrancar still in custody of the Gotei 13 will be released under your responsibility, and you are to take them with you back to Hueco Mundo, where you are to remain, in exile, to perpetuity. In exchange, you will take control of Hueco Mundo and ensure its denizens remain right where they are. Soul Society will consider any appearance of your people outside your realm as an act of war, and respond accordingly, is that understood?” 

“Yes, Yamamoto-soutaicho.” Harribel bowed again. “Should Andaluce still be in Hueco Mundo, I will make sure to send him to you, as a promise of good will.” 

The room exploded into protests as soon as she walked out the door. They were swiftly silenced by another hit of the cane on the ground and a considerable flare of Yamamoto's spiritual pressure. 

“We are not conquerors,” he said, voice sharp, “the Gotei 13 exists to protect Soul Society and the balance of souls. We have neither the resources nor the will to hold Hueco Mundo in any capacity, nor it would provide any particular advantage to our goals to attempt to do so. The Twelfth Division will provide passage for the Arrancar into Hueco Mundo, and the Eleventh will provide protection.” A dark glare traveled between Zaraki and Mayuri, warningly. “I expect no incidents as this is carried out with utmost efficiency. Meanwhile, the Twelfth will brief the Eighth and the Thirteenth on their findings, regarding the Arrancar attack yesterday, and they will scour every inch of Soul Society to make sure no other remain, after Harribel's group leave. Any Arrancar found in Soul Society past tomorrow, will be summarily executed on the spot.” 

“Yes, sir,” came the chorus of slightly disgruntled Captains. 

The cane hit the ground again. 

“The Seventh and the Tenth will take over the all duties in the Human World and make sure to keep hollow attacks to the minimum. The recent events in Karakura town will no doubt cause an increase in spiritual disruptions and we can ill afford to let them run rampant. As for the Sixth,” Byakuya tilted his head up, eyes narrowed, “Kuchiki-taicho and Abarai-fukutaicho will depart to the Human World to meet with certain individuals and assess their intentions towards Soul Society. You will be briefed in detail later, see that your Division will be ready to function without you for the duration of the assignment.” 

“As you command, Yamamoto-soutaicho,” Byakuya said, not quite sure what to make of his orders. 

“Captains of the Sixth, Eighth and Eleventh, stay.” Yamamoto hit the floor with his cane once more, expression sour. “The rest of you, dismissed.” 

As the formation broke, Byakuya looked over at Kyouraku and Zaraki, wondering if either of them knew exactly why they'd been held back. Kyouraku was busy waving off Ukitake and Zaraki simply leered back. As the rest of their fellow Captains finally left, Byakuya found himself standing between Zaraki and Kyouraku before the Captain Commander, who sighed softly and seemed to deflate somewhat, as the tension from the meeting finally evaporated from the room. 

And then Yamamoto-soutaicho opened his eyes to glare them down like misbehaving children. 

“You idiots!” He snarled, loud enough his voice echoed all across the First Division's barracks and only Byakuya's iron clad self-control prevented him from flinching on reflex. “What is this I hear, that you three lost your Captain haori?” Byakuya stared. Zaraki was busy cleaning one ear with his pinkie. Kyouraku looked absolutely unruffled. “Damaging it is one thing, but losing it entirely is absolutely outrageous! How can the three of you stand there looking so nonchalant about it!” 

Considering what they had just been discussing, Byakuya felt that if he'd been a lesser man, he'd be burying his face into his hands. Instead, he closed his eyes and shrugged elegantly. 

“Yamamoto-soutaicho,” he said, trying his best to be placating, “you needn't worry about trivial matters. Such cheap haori can be easily replaced, I will pay for it.” 

Kyouraku swallowed back a snort, even as Yamamoto's face darkened in fury. 

“Do you think that's going to solve the issue here? That's not even what I'm truly concerned about!” Yamamoto snapped, cane slamming on the ground warningly. He took a step forward. “And for your information, you smug little know-it-all, those haori were anything but cheap! Battles are more than just winning! What do you morons think the Captain haori _are_ , anyway?!” 

“A frakin' nuisance,” Zaraki offered, annoyed. 

“Cheap,” Byakuya insisted, shrugging. 

“A fashion statement?” Kyouraku tried, looking sheepish. 

Yamamoto's temper snapped audibly. 

“ _ **YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A BUNCH OF IGNORANT BABOONS!”**_

  


* * *

  


Renji bowed as the various Captains passed him by, and then winced as he heard the Captain Commander's screams of fury. He considered going back to the Sixth and waiting for his Captain there, but then, Renji was nothing if not loyal. With a sigh, he started walking down the corridor towards the audience hall. He found Ukitake-taicho and his two 3rd seats sitting on the ground, waiting. 

“Ah, Abarai-fukutaicho,” Ukitake said, when he saw him approaching, then winced and stumbled a little, as he attempted to stand up at the same time Yamamoto's voice rose once more. 

“ _ **YOU'RE A DISGRACE TO EVERYTHING THE GOTEI 13 REPRESENTS, YOU UNREPENTANT MORONS!**_ ” 

Renji winced again. 

“Ukitake-taicho,” he said, nodding in greeting, as the two 3rd seats helped their Captain hold himself upright once more. “It's good to see you, sir.” 

“Likewise,” Ukitake said, then bowed. “I am sorry for the misunderstanding, yesterday. It was unfair of me, to jump to conclusions.” 

“Aw, sir, don't worry about it,” Renji replied, face heating up in embarrassment as he tried to ignore the dark looks from the man's subordinates. Apparently they did not approve of their Captain apologizing for any reason. Renji shrugged. “Water under the bridge, right? Say, is Kuchiki-taicho around or did he leave already?” 

Ukitake chuckled. 

“Ah, he, Zaraki-taicho and Kyouraku-taicho are...” He nodded to the hall, where Yamamoto-soutaicho was still ranting. “Busy.” Ukitake gave Renji a conspiratorial look. “It shouldn't take too long now. Will you wait with us?” 

Renji wasn't sure he wanted to, considering the two 3rd seats were giving him dirty looks for apparently interrupting their time with their Captain. He had no idea how the hell that worked, in the Thirteenth, but he wasn't really in a hurry to find out. It would be rude, though, to decline the invitation, considering he had decided to wait anyway. So Renji nodded awkwardly, trying to focus only on Ukitake-taicho's warm smile. 

“Have you heard anything from Rukia, Taicho?” Renji asked, deciding to at least make the waiting useful. “About... you know.” 

“Nothing yet,” Ukitake looked sad, as he spoke. “I've given her leave to stay, until Ichigo wakes up, but she hasn't reported any change in his condition.” 

“Oh,” Renji replied, in lieu of anything more coherent. 

He hadn't known what to expect, except perhaps miraculous news that Kurosaki Ichigo had somehow managed to defy the laws of reality once more. But it seemed that wasn't going to happen this time. The thought of Ichigo unconscious on the ground, his reiatsu extinguishing like a candle, made something inside Renji ache, though he couldn't put it to words. It seemed so unfair, for Ichigo to pay the price for Aizen's bullshit. But that seemed to be the way things would be, apparently. 

“When you see her next,” Ukitake said, bringing Renji out of his thoughts, “will you please tell her that her Captain's worried about her?” 

Renji blinked. 

“Wouldn't you see her first when she returns?” But before Renji could say anything else, Byakuya walked out of the audience hall, with the telltale twitch in his lower lip that meant he was annoyed beyond words. Renji winced. “Taicho!” 

“Renji,” Byakuya said, when he saw him. Then he gave Ukitake a narrow-eyed look that made the white haired Captain raise his hands in surrender. “Ukitake-taicho.” His eyes slid back to Renji immediately, though. “Excuse us, as you know, we have much work to do. Renji.” 

“Yes, sir!” Renji nodded and stepped back to allow his Captain to pass. He waved at Ukitake, shrugging. “I'll see you around, Ukitake-taicho.” 

When Byakuya disappeared in a flash of shunpo, Renji sighed and followed without a second thought. 

  


* * *

  


“A fashion statement, really?” Ukitake asked, amused, as Kyouraku came to lean on his side, face twisted like a chastised child. 

“At least,” the Captain of the Eighth said, grinning, “I didn't call them _cheap_. Hey, Zaraki,” he raised his voice, to reach the Captain already purposefully stomping in the opposite direction. “Lunch?” Kyouraku asked hopefully, when Zaraki looked at him over his shoulder. “My treat?” 

As Zaraki slouched his way to them, Kiyone and Sentaro shrinked back to hide behind Ukitake, who was still smiling in amusement. 

“And in return you want what, exactly?” Zaraki asked, looming over both Captains with a frown. 

“The pleasure of your company, of course!” Kyouraku laughed, grabbing Ukitake's hand with his left and hooking his right arm around Zaraki's. “And maybe all your choice commentary on your little scuffle with Kuchiki-taicho. Juushirou is under the misconception it was Renji you fought.” 

“Was,” Ukitake corrected sheepishly, “Kuchiki-taicho was so very kind to set me straight.” 

“Pretty sure not even the Old Man could set either of you _straight_ ,” Zaraki snorted, mouth twitching into a grin, “and even then not for very long.” 

“Juushirou~” Kyouraku mock-whined, as he dragged them both along, “I do believe the child is sassing us. Whatever shall we do?” 

“Buy him lunch, obviously,” Ukitake replied, in good humor. “Kiyone-chan, Sentaro-kun, could you run back to the barracks and organize a Division-wide meeting for this evening?” 

“Sir! Yes, sir!” The grateful 3rd seats chorused in relief, certain Kyouraku-taicho would not allow any harm to befall their Captain, even at the hands of Zaraki-taicho. 

“Better be a damn amazing lunch, that,” Zaraki grumbled, but let himself be lead with a small shrug. 

  


* * *

  


“We will depart for Karakura town in two days,” Byakuya said, watching Renji set out the tea, “from there we will carry out our mission and should everything go according to plan, return to Soul Society in no more than two weeks.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Renji replied, setting Byakuya's cup on the desk. He paused, as he studied his Captain's pinched expression. “Is something the matter, sir?” 

Byakuya frowned and Renji regretted asking, wondering if he was going to get scolded, but instead Byakuya sighed and reached for the tea. The silence lingered a moment longer, stretching awkwardly across the room. 

“You've achieved Bankai,” Byakuya said after a moment, “yet despite the Captain seats available, you never spoke up to take one of them. I wish to understand why, considering the possible outcome of our mission.” 

Renji walked over to lean on the windowsill, a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. He'd thought about it, of course. And his fellow lieutenants had teased him about it, as well, considering there hadn't been anyone available to raise to the rank during the crisis. They all seemed to take it for granted, but Renji had found himself opposed to the idea on a visceral level that was hard to put to words. 

Nonetheless, for Byakuya, he tried. 

“I am not ready to be a Captain,” he said finally, feeling Byakuya's eyes bore into his back. “My kido is laughable and my control of my Bankai is nowhere near good enough. Not to mention I still have no idea how to run a Division properly. But, besides all that,” he added, chuckling wrly. “Besides all that, I won't become a Captain until I've passed my own test for it. Until I've defeated you, Taicho, fair and square, and you have nothing else to teach me yet, I won't feel like I've earned the rank. Even if they offer it to me, I won't take the post. I _want_ to be a Captain, but I want to be a Captain the way you are, Taicho. A Captain that no one second guesses and that will never have his rank downplayed because he earned it in an emergency. I want to be a Captain because there's nothing else for me to be, but a Captain. And I want you to be able to look at me, and feel proud of me for it, not like I'm somehow cheapening your rank by sharing it.” 

Byakuya watched Renji and bit back the words sitting on the tip of his tongue – I am already proud of you – because Renji would not believe them, not after everything that had happened. Renji was not one for words, either, so Byakuya decided actions were required. 

“Very well,” he said, standing up, “I will train you, then, and hold you to those standards, from now on.” 

“Taicho?” Renji looked at him in surprise. “You'll train me?” His face betrayed delight in a way that made Byakuya's mouth pull into a pleased smile. “For real?” 

“Indeed,” he nodded, “but only after we're done with this mission. I expect you to give it your best, Renji, I will not go easy on you.” 

“Of course not!” Renji grinned, but when he went to his knees to bow low in gratitude, he found Byakuya's hands on his shoulders. He blinked in shock, as Byakuya pulled him upright. “Taicho?” 

“Lesson one, Renji,” Byakuya said, and found it was actually hard, to pull his hands off Renji's shoulders for some reason. The contact remained, strangely intimate. “Equals do not grovel. Respect is one thing, but I expect you to stop this nonsense of acting like you do not deserve your rank. You're the lieutenant of the Sixth Division, _my_ lieutenant, and you will act the part.” 

Renji swallowed hard, eyes wide, and nodded sharply. 

“Good,” Byakuya said, dusting invisible lint from Renji's shoulders as he finally let go of him, and turned back to his desk. “Now finish your tea and your report, Renji. We have much to organize, before we leave.” 

Renji couldn't keep the smile off his face, no matter how much he tried. 

“Yes, sir!” 

  


* * *

  



	4. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Renji learns more about Byakuya's family than he ever needed to, Hitsugaya and Matsumoto meet with a literal ghost of the past, and Renji finally convinces Byakuya that alcohol is the solution to all their problems. Sorta.

  


* * *

  


IV – Family 

  


* * *

  


Renji made his way to the senkaimon only when the 3rd seat, Misuzu Hotaru, shoved him out the door, clearly fed up with his fretting. It wasn't that he didn't trust her to keep the Sixth afloat while he and Byakuya were away – far from that, considering Hotaru had already dealt with the comings and goings of the war and had been holding the front nonstop since the Ryoka invasion – but Renji was just nervous about being gone. That strange possessiveness over his Division had increased considerably at the prospect of leaving it behind, and now he wanted to make absolutely sure it would be there, waiting for him, when he returned. 

Which it would be, of course, but nerves had little to do with reason. 

He found Byakuya was not alone, however, when he finally arrived, and blinked in surprise. The Captains had been unusually tightlipped about their meeting with the Captain Commander, the lieutenants had discovered, and that only made them all uneasy. There was a flurry of activity over at the Twelfth and the Second Division, but no one knew anything, if asked. And by the third time, Renji had realized he was better off not asking at all. There was enough of a mess to deal with, as it was, with entire Divisions scrambling about to shift focus at a moment's notice. 

“Renji,” Byakuya said, tilting his head in acknowledgment. “I trust you're ready?” 

“Kuchiki-taicho, sir, yes,” Renji replied, nodding sharply, before bowing his head slightly in greeting to Byakuya's companions. “Hitsugaya-taicho, Matsumoto-fukutaicho. Will you be accompanying us?” 

“Yes,” Hitsugaya nodded, “I doubt there will be anything that truly requires a Captain or even a lieutenant to deal with, but Karakura town has a tendency to surprise us. I wish to assess the workload before assigning it to my men.” 

Renji smiled wryly at that massive understatement. 

“Wise,” Byakuya said, and then narrowed his eyes defensively as all three blinked and stared at him a little. 

Byakuya wondered why his compliments were always met with such reactions and refused to budge or explain himself. 

“Yes, well,” Hitsugaya said, recovering first and coughing into a fist as he looked elsewhere. Rangiku winked at Renji, though for the life of him he couldn't figure out why. “If we're all ready?” 

The trip the Human World was terribly uneventful and mildly boring. Renji concentrated on following after Byakuya to try and keep his mind from running in circles, wondering what the guys over at the Sixth would be doing at that moment. He felt silly, worrying like that, so he endeavored to think of something else entirely. The only other thing he could entertain himself with was the promise from Byakuya to train him in earnest, but Renji had been purposely avoiding that train of thought because he got the goofiest smile on his face whenever he thought about it, and Rangiku was not very likely to ignore it or let him live it down, either. 

Renji didn't know why, but he'd decided, almost from the moment that Byakuya had made his decision, that he was not going to share it with anyone. He wanted their training, whatever shape it took, to be personal. Renji's very own secret to keep, like the feeling of Byakuya's hands on his shoulders and that quiet intensity in his eyes as he demanded Renji stopped apologizing. He wanted to keep it to himself, because even if he couldn't name it, he could very well treasure it. 

Byakuya spent the trip much like Renji, deep in thought. The occasional bickering between Hitsugaya and Rangiku were the only reminders that he wasn't, in fact, alone, but it did very little to compete with his thoughts. He was, ostensibly, piecing together the training regime he intended to put Renji through, once their mission was completed. Ostensibly. Mostly he'd been sidetracked by the uncomfortable realization that he didn't know his lieutenant as well as he should, in order to organize a training that suited him properly. Byakuya found himself confronted with a thousand little details that he had never thought about, and which now trailed around aimlessly in his mind. Silly, inconsequential things that he found himself annoyed at, precisely because they were silly and inconsequential, and yet he didn't know them. He resisted the urge, for example, to turn his head back and find out what was the color of Renji's hair tie. Little things, but things that Byakuya was starting to wish he'd noticed, before. 

If Hitsugaya and Rangiku found their silence strange, they didn't comment on it. 

  


* * *

  


“It's like you never learned any better, Toushirou, leaving your left flank wide open.” 

There were Arrancar, in Karakura town. Well, there had been. For about ten seconds during which they caught the shinigami by surprise, but by the time the four had gathered their wits and prepared to attack, the Arrancar were gone. Dead. 

The reason for such swift elimination was standing in midair a good ways away, zanpakuto propped on his shoulder in a way that was eerily reminiscent of Ichigo's. And then there was the Captain haori bundled up on his shoulder and around his waist. 

“It's Hitsugaya-taicho now,” Hitsugaya snapped, almost on reflex. His expression was carefully closed up, in a way that reminded Renji keenly of Byakuya at his worst moments. 

Renji stared at the newcomer, head tilted to the side as he tried to figure out what was going on. Byakuya had gone deadly still, staring at the stranger with as close to shock as his face usually allowed him. To further fuel Renji's curiosity, Rangiku let out a small shriek and launched herself at him. 

“You bastard!” She said, aiming to either punch him or smack him with her sword, Renji wasn't quite sure, but in the end she ended up hugging him instead, clinging to his side in a way that made her seem even younger than her Captain. “You absolute _bastard_. How _dare_ you be alive?” 

“Shiba Isshin,” Byakuya said after a moment, lowering Senbonzakura slowly. 

“Heh, about that,” Isshin replied, patting Rangiku's back with one hand and scratching the back of his head with the other. “It's Kurosaki Isshin, these days.” 

The silence was deafening. 

It took Renji and embarrassingly long time to realize why the name Shiba Isshin had been familiar to him, considering back then he'd been in the Eleventh and he'd never really bothered about the gossip in the Tenth. But then the name clicked into his mental map of the world, followed by his brain finally catching up and processing that second bit of the statement. His jaw unhinged itself in surprise. 

“There, there, Rangiku-chan, beautiful girls shouldn't cry,” Isshin was saying, and then fixed his stare on Byakuya, “I'm pretty sure Toushirou is a lost cause, but what about you, Byakuya-kun, you ain't gonna give your favorite uncle a hug?” 

Renji spluttered. 

Hitsugaya choked. 

Through her tears, Rangiku snorted a hysterical laugh. 

“You are supposed to be dead,” Byakuya said, eyes narrowed to slits, as he raised Senbonzakura and took a warning stance. “Shall I make sure of it?” 

Renji didn't even feel him move. And by the slight widening of Byakuya's eyes, _neither did he._ But there was Shiba-or-Kurosaki-Renji-wasn't-sure-which-one-was-worse Isshin, one arm still around Matsumoto, the other casually brushing Senbonzakura aside. Renji stared as the man – who was clearly insane, if nothing else – placed a hand on Byakuya's head and grinned as he _ruffled_ his hair. 

Ruffled. His. Hair. 

And Byakuya stood there, staring in shock at the sheer unreality of the situation. 

“You really did grow up, huh, kiddo?” Isshin said, sighing as he finally let go. Byakuya's hair was a mess and the kenseikan was lopsided. Renji hadn't even _known_ it was possible for the damn thing to _be_ lopsided. “C'mon, you lot can eat dinner while we play catch up.” 

  


* * *

  


Renji realized he had lost control of his life. 

Because dinner was exactly what it sounded like: dinner, in the Kurosaki home, sitting in the table, with his Captain at his right, Rangiku sitting across the table, and her Captain at her right. And at the head of the table, Isshin – Renji gave up trying to decide which name was worse and decided to do away with both – grinning wryly at the frosty, awkward silence as food was slowly and defiantly consumed. 

Renji almost felt for the guy, if nothing else because at least he didn't have any deep personal connection with him. But Rangiku had been his lieutenant, when he'd been Captain of the Tenth, and Hitsugaya had had to push himself really hard to fill in his shoes after he... left. And there was history there, that he wasn't privy to – and to be perfectly clear, he wasn't really sure he _wanted_ to be privy to it – that had to make things awkward. Complicated. 

And then he'd called himself Byakuya's uncle, which wasn't entirely outside the realm of possibility, because the Shiba had been once one of the great families in Soul Society, rivals in prestige and wealth to the Kuchiki. But the idea was preposterous, because if Isshin was a Shiba, then so was _Ichigo_. And if Isshin really was Byakuya's uncle, then Byakuya and Ichigo were _cousins_. Renji wasn't sure he could continue with that train of thought without spraining something or drowning a bottle of sake or two. 

“So?” Isshin asked, leaning on the table and giving them all an expectant look. “Got anything to say?” 

“Plenty,” Hitsugaya snarled under his breath, “but none of it is suitable for polite company.” 

Rangiku poked her Captain sharply in the side, but he ignored her. Renji meanwhile stared at Byakuya and the slow realization settling on his face. 

“You were expecting us,” he said, giving Isshin an accusing look. “You knew we would come.” 

Isshin shrugged eloquently. 

“Yamamoto-soutaicho is many, many things, my dearest, darling nephew,” he said, one eyebrow arched challengingly, “but stupid is not one of them. There are three empty Captain seats and Soul Society is just recovering from the greatest war fought in recent memory. I didn't exactly _hide_ myself, during the scuffle with Aizen, either.” He gave Byakuya a chiding look. “I can still do basic math, kiddo.” 

Hitsugaya gave Byakuya and Renji a truly frosty glare, as if he'd only found out about that aspect of their mission. Renji began to realize that was exactly what was going on, and couldn't be sure he wanted to contemplate the potential ramifications of it. Their mission had been to assess the intentions of several individuals, in regards to Soul Society and the Gotei 13. Renji had looked at the list and memorized it, but it still hadn't really meant much to him. At least until he reached the end, demanding Kurosaki Ichigo's then unnamed father was interrogated as well. Renji had assumed Yamamoto-soutaicho wanted to know what Ichigo's father thought about all the danger and pain his son had gone through, and how he was taking Ichigo's sudden bout of unconsciousness. 

He hadn't expected for Ichigo's dad to be a former Captain and for the actual assessment to be whether he'd be willing to go back to his rank or not. 

“I didn't mean to leave,” Isshin said, all of a sudden, and Renji wanted nothing more than to melt into nothing and escape the room because he had no business being there. Isshin studied Hitsugaya and Rangiku with a solemn look on his face. “I didn't mean for you to be left behind, picking up the pieces. Things just... happened, that way. I know it doesn't make it better. I know it's not what you want to hear. But it's the truth.” Isshin shrugged, expansively, encompassing, and Renji realized, with a jolt, what a reassuring presence he must have been for his Division, back in the day. Kind of like fighting alongside Ichigo, in Renji's experience, which was ten levels of fucked up given the circumstances. “I have a family to look after. You can tell Yamamoto-soutaicho that I bear no ill-will toward him or Soul Society, that I will gladly fight if the fight ever comes to my backyard, but I will not return.” His eyes narrowed. “Not alone.” 

The silence was oppressive and all consuming. 

Byakuya stood up and placed one hand on Renji's shoulder as he tugged him to follow suit. 

“My sister is upstairs,” Byakuya explained, pretending he wasn't giving them space to sort themselves out on their own. “Excuse me.” 

Renji watched him go for a moment, then ducked his head embarrasedly. 

“Excuse me,” Renji squeaked uncertainly, and then scurried away as best he could, after his Captain. 

At least Rukia was genuinely pleased to see him. 

  


* * *

  


“My mother's name was Kuchiki Akane,” Byakuya said, as if a greeting, when Renji finally jumped out the window after leaving Rukia behind to watch over Ichigo. Renji made a noise of surprise in the back of his throat. “But that was only by marriage; she was Shiba Akane, by birth.” 

Renji blinked, unsure what to process first: the information, or the fact Byakuya was actively _sharing_. 

“So you mean he really _is_ your...” Renji tried compromising, but the mental image was weird enough as it was and the words would not force themselves onto his tongue. 

“Yes.” 

Byakuya sounded very, very tired. 

“But that makes Ichigo...” Renji waved a hand, uncertain. 

“Indeed,” Byakuya replied, eyes fixed on the tiny building and all those terrible secrets it kept. “My grandfather used to say the fate of the Kuchiki clan is entwined with the Shiba. It would amuse him to see how true that turned out to be.” 

Renji studied his Captain carefully, noting the surprisingly obvious knots of tension on his shoulders and the pinched expression on his face. He wasn't sure if Byakuya was suddenly more open about that kind of thing, allowing him to see it clearly, or if he'd spent so long in his company he could just tell. 

“What's going to happen to him? Them?” Renji asked, trying to understand the consequences of what they'd learned. 

Shiba Isshin was officially listed as AWOL, as far as the Gotei 13 was concerned. He'd somehow turned human enough to have children, which Renji wasn't sure for certain, but knowing Soul Society, was probably another unforgivable crime or something. While Rukia being sentenced to death had been all part of Aizen's plan, the fact no one seemed to think it was far-fetched was a little terrifying for Renji, in retrospect. Because that was the kind of law they lived under, and Aizen had been able to manipulate them and turn them on each other because the foundations had been there for him to work with already. 

Byakuya surprised him by clicking his tongue dismissively. 

“Yamamoto-soutaicho is in a truly forgiving mood,” he said, thinking of the Third Espada bowing low and walking out of Soul Society unharmed. “Which I suppose is good for all involved, as he has not turned over power to Central 46 yet. He's issued a wide-reaching pardon for all previous criminal activity, to anyone who participated in the battle against Aizen. Records are to be struck down, so even when Central is back in control, they will not be able to prosecute any of us.” 

The _us_ caught Renji by surprise, until he remembered that, by allowing him and Rukia into Hueco Mundo, Byakuya had technically defied Yamamoto's explicit orders. 

“And we're supposed to recruit these criminals-no-longer for him, then,” Renji summarized, frowning. “To help rebuild and fill up the ranks the war left empty.” 

“Essentially, yes,” Byakuya nodded. “Though I know for a fact Urahara Kisuke and his group will not agree to come back from exile. I imagine he's grown rather fond of working outside the narrow constraints of the law.” He frowned. “The Visored are another matter entirely, however. They might be willing to come back, as the Divisions hurting most right now are the ones they lead once. But we won't know until we meet with them.” 

“Which means we outta find them first,” Renji snorted and shook his head. “That's gonna be the fun part, isn't it? Find people who spent a century hiding from Soul Society to the point we never knew they were there at all until they made themselves known?” 

“If the mission were easy, it wouldn't have been assigned to us,” Byakuya retorted with a snort, tilting his chin up arrogantly. But his sudden smile, small and almost teasing caught Renji by surprise. “And of course, the sooner we are done with this matter, the sooner we can focus in earnest on your training.” 

Renji grinned, unable to keep the giddiness out of his face. 

“Yeah,” he said, licking his lips, “yeah, that'd be great.” He tilted his head slightly to the side. “So, what now?” 

“We should, in all honesty, head out to find Urahara, since he should still be in Karakura, considering we've obtained Isshin's reply already,” Byakuya admitted, even as he sighed. He surprised himself by allowing his thoughts to flow freely into his mouth. “But to be perfectly honest, I do not entirely trust myself to not stab him in the face after all that has happened. He's bound to make this hard, just because he can. And Yoruichi will undoubtedly be there as well.” Byakuya paused, expression darkening, though Renji wasn't quite sure why. He liked Yoruichi. Mostly. More often than not. At least she'd never tried to actually murder him, he was pretty sure. Byakuya's expression remained pinched, as if he were working himself up to do something he absolutely would rather not. “Needs must, however.” 

“Or we could go get drunk instead,” Renji blurted out before he could help himself. 

Byakuya's face melted into the familiar scowl that preluded a lecture on discipline and propriety. 

“ _Renji_.” 

Renji gathered aplomb and raised his hands in surrender. 

“Strategic retreat is a legitimate battle tactic,” he said, expression wry. “We'd be regrouping. You know, rest and prepare, so we can face the enemy at full strength tomorrow.” When one of Byakuya's eyebrows rose challengingly, Renji shrugged. “We'd just regroup with a bottle or two of sake. Or thirty. 'cause you really look like you could use some, Taicho. Frankly, so could I. So there you go, you can blame it on the infirmity of my spirit.” 

A funny look crossed Byakuya's face, something between surprise and resignation, before his expression closed off entirely. 

“I believe I've made it clear to you,” he said, careful not to look at Renji in the eye, “that I will not tolerate you shouldering the blame for anything I choose to do.” 

Renji found, to his surprise, that his first instinct was to argue. When he first joined the Sixth, he'd found himself agreeing with his Captain about everything he said or ordered. But sometime after Byakuya recovered from the spectacular asskicking that Ichigo gave him, Renji began testing the waters, almost unconsciously, asserting his will and challenging specific decisions when he genuinely didn't agree with them. Sometimes Byakuya ignored him and even scolded him for stepping out of line. But sometimes, more often than not, Renji realized with trepidation, Byakuya listened to him and took his input into consideration. 

Renji had noticed how much Byakuya had changed, as the war progressed, and he knew his Captain was not the same man he'd been, when Rukia had first been sentenced to die. But he hadn't noticed how much he'd changed, as well. And he knew, all of a sudden, that for all Byakuya changed, Renji needed to meet him halfway too. Consciously, not just out of inertia. 

“Yes, you have,” he said, nodding seriously. “But the thing is, you also told me to not grovel and to act like what I am, your lieutenant. And as your lieutenant, it's my job to take care of you too, Taicho, because you're also part of the Sixth. It's been a weird as fuck night. We're both tired and strung up, and definitely not in the best mood to be diplomatic. And that's what we're supposed to be, isn't it? We're here not in a military capacity, per se, but as diplomats.” He offered a wry smirk. “Diplomacy in the Eleventh does actually involve stabbing someone in the face, but the Sixth has different principles, doesn't it?” 

“So that's your official advice, as lieutenant to his Captain?” Byakuya asked, eyes narrowed. “That we should get drunk instead of pursuing our task?” 

“That we should take it easy tonight and get ready to tackle stuff tomorrow,” Renji corrected, shrugging. “I just happen to think getting drunk is very advisable too, considering the night we've had. You more than me, anyway. But we have a relatively loose timetable, for once we're not in a rush to get everything done at once.” 

There was silence, as Renji braced for the nigh inevitable rejection and Byakuya frowned in thought. Renji almost regretted speaking up, but what was done was done, anyway. 

Byakuya surprised him yet again by sighing. 

“It's a terrible thing, Renji,” he said, eyes trailing back to the Kurosaki clinic as his mouth twitched, “that you've learned to speak so sensibly.” 

Renji grinned. 

“C'mon, Taicho,” he jerked his head to the left, “I know just the place.” 

  


* * *

  


Renji woke up in an unfamiliar hotel room, to the sounds of Byakuya performing the highly complex ritual worship of the porcelain gods in the tiny, cramped bathroom. He didn't quite remember how they'd gotten there, except by the time the bar closed, neither could really walk straight or remember the address of the warehouse the Twelfth had set up as their base of operations in the Human world. So Renji had half stumbled, half dragged his Captain to the nearest hotel available and proceeded to faceplant into the nearest plush surface once the door had closed. 

“Do you know what's the worst part?” Byakuya asked him, a little bit later as Renji swam in and out of consciousness, sprawled awkwardly on a tiny, complimentary couch that was barely big enough for half of him. Renji made an inquiring sound in the back of his throat and twisted around to look at his Captain, but only succeeded in falling off into the floor. “This is the worst I've felt in decades, and somehow going to see Urahara and Yoruichi last night instead would have been an even worse mistake.” 

Renji raised both hands to give Byakuya a double thumbs up. 

“Like you said,” he snorted, eyes tightly closed as he waited for the room to stop spinning in angry circles all around him, “ _sensible_.” 

Fully intending to blame the hangover for it, Byakuya allowed himself to snort exactly as loudly as he pleased. 

It was going to be a tortuously long day, he could tell. 

  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering what the Kuchiki/Shiba/Kurosaki/Shihoin family tree looks like, in this verse, [here you go](http://notavodkashot.tumblr.com/post/144382561707/crowepiphanies-the-family-tree-for-discretion-and).
> 
> It'll be relevant, later on.


	5. Fury and Resignation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the dreaded meeting at Urahara Shoten is held, and it's every bit as disastrous as Renji and Byakuya had feared.

  


* * *

  


V – Fury and Resignation 

  


* * *

  


Despite Byakuya's protests – bitching, Renji grumped in the back of his head, but refused to say it out loud, if only because his Captain would murder him out of frustration – they did not set out to find Urahara until well after noon. 

The morning had been full of a lot of sitting around in the hotel room, working themselves up to get dressed and leave, and stalling out with awkward bits of conversation to cover up the fact the hangover each of them was nursing was pretty legendary. Though Renji secretly admitted to himself he was pretty damn pleased that Byakuya had retained his willingness to share tidbits of his history, as they sat around the bed or the couch – or in Renji's case, by the time he'd given up on fighting gravity, sprawled on the carpeted floor – by making little snide comments about how much of a pain in the ass Shiba Isshin had been, while he'd been growing up. Only, of course, in not so crude words. Renji liked that about his Captain, the way he could phrase things politely enough one almost always missed the sheer amount of disdain and scorn he could pack into his meaning. Well, at least Renji did. 

He'd been a embarrassed, he remembered fondly, and absolutely furious, when he'd first come to the Sixth and he'd been hit in the face with a wall of words in a quiet, bland tone that had taken him nearly an hour to untangle into what basically amounted to a giant “don't disappoint me if you wish to live” with a side dish of “fuck you” to go with it. 

Renji was very, very glad they'd somehow managed to move past that; Byakuya didn't really sneer at him anymore, not even when Renji was being patently stupid. 

It was nice. 

Eventually though, hunger won out, and after Renji fumbled his way through the check out – and steadily refused to acknowledge the clerk's giggling and her insidious looks over at Byakuya, privately thanking any god listening that Byakuya seemed to have deemed her and her antics beneath his notice, because otherwise Renji would have had to explain _why_ she was giggling and what it looked like, two drunken guys checking-in in the wee hours of the morning, holding onto each other for their dear life, and Renji honestly still wasn't feeling suicidal _at all_ – they had breakfast in a tiny little cafe that served funny shaped bread and delicious tea. Renji had found it during his stay in Karakura, training with Urahara and Chad. Well, okay, Chad had taken him there once, so it wasn't exactly like Renji had stumbled into it on his own, but he was definitely a fan. Byakuya had given the bread an equally funny look, but he hadn't complained much in the end. It was probably the hangover, Renji thought a little philosophically, making his Captain all agreeable and stuff. 

Then of course, Byakuya stopped being agreeable and demanded they headed back to the warehouse were the Twelfth had set out a small base of operations for them – because of course Kuchiki Byakuya was not going to be sent over to the Human world on his own, Renji thought a little grumpily, considering the Twelfth had given them jackshit in comparison, when he'd come along with Hitsugaya and the others – and got dressed properly. 

Byakuya, it seemed, refused to meet with Urahara and company without looking at his very best. 

Renji didn't really get it, but he knew better than to argue. So he just changed into a nice, comfy pair of jeans and a bright red shirt that went with his hair and set out to wait while Byakuya perused the clothing selection at his disposal. He ended up going with something entirely too formal, even to Renji's limited knowledge of the Human world. It was the kind of thing Byakuya would do, though, and Renji had to admit it somehow even managed to make the kenseikan look fitting. 

But by then it'd be time for lunch, and though Renji was feeling magnanimous enough to not call Byakuya out for deciding to go eat before heading out to Urahara's place, he could tell it was just another attempt to delay the inevitable. His excuse – it was totally an excuse, Renji was sure – was that it'd be rude to walk in on them eating. While Renji was mildly amused by watching Kuchiki Byakuya progressively work himself through more and more hoops to jump through as he artfully stalled doing something he really didn't want to do, he was starting to get worried. 

Not that they'd fail their mission, of course, because that was just impossible and would require a level of incompetence from both of them that was beyond words. 

No, he was starting to wonder what kind of horrors awaited them, at the store, that Kuchiki freaking Byakuya was _dreading_ – it was dread alright, Renji was entirely too familiar with that feeling, to not recognize it – going there. 

In the end, they set out after their meal, with Renji walking out of habit two steps behind Byakuya, and Byakuya himself strolling about with his back ramrod straight and a thunderstorm brewing between his furrowed brows. 

Renji kept telling himself it was going to be alright, because Renji was the kind of person who believed in the impossible if only to make himself feel better about it. 

  


* * *

  


Yoruichi leaped at Byakuya's face, the moment the door closed behind them. 

Literally. 

Renji stared a little as his Captain held the cat at arm's length, a thunderous scowl tugging at his face. Yoruichi made one half hearted attempt to swat a paw at Byakuya's nose, but all she got for her efforts was an even darker scowl – which Renji frankly hadn't been sure was even possible – and a very put upon sigh. 

“No,” Byakuya said, with as much conviction as a man trying to talk sense into the sea would use, mouth pulled into a thin, annoyed line. 

“You're absolutely no fun,” Yoruichi replied, and then she began dissolving into mist, reshaping right in Byakuya's hands into her very human – and very naked – self. 

Renji made a sound not wholly intelligible, face flushing instantly as he looked up at the ceiling in sheer mortification. And then he looked back at the corner of his eye, because Byakuya was still holding Yoruichi by her armpits and even as terminally embarrassed as he was, Renji knew a once in a life time chance when he saw one. 

He wasn't sure if he was disappointed to find Byakuya perfectly composed still, or terribly impressed with the aplomb required to remain a stoic wall of linefacing disapproval in the face of Yoruichi's wide smirk. 

Yoruichi, who, Renji's brain hastened to remind him, was still _naked_. 

“Must you?” Byakuya muttered long-sufferingly, keeping his eyes to hers and outright refusing to react to her antics. 

“Only because you're absolutely adorable when you're flustered, Byakuya,” she singsonged, flashstepping out of his hold, grinning widely. 

Things only went downhill from there. 

  


* * *

  


Renji wondered how things always ended up this way, whenever he found himself at Urahara Shoten and sighed a little as he leaned on the broom. 

He was pretty sure Urahara was just fucking with him because he could, because Renji had damn well paid his tab last time he'd visited. Nonetheless, he figured he was at least doing his Captain a favor by not being in the same room when Yoruichi started laughing in earnest. Because boy, she'd been laughing quite a bit, since Renji had managed to escape the sheer clusterfuck of terrible that was the inside of the shop. 

Almost on cue, a loud, echoing cackle echoed from behind the thin doors, and despite himself, Renji shuddered a little. 

On the other hand, he thought a little desperately, clutching the broom with white knuckles, he wasn't entirely sure he had the wits required to come up with a suitable excuse for Yamamoto-soutaicho, to justify Byakuya slaughtering everyone inside. Because Renji knew his Captain, and he knew that his Captain had as much patience as Renji himself had tact. Which is to say, _none at all_. And Urahara and Yoruichi, the terrible duo, seemed determined to annihilate every last trace of it. 

Yoruichi's roaring laugh echoed again, and Renji began practicing in his head, how to best paint gruesome murder as an entirely reasonable and noble thing to do, for when the inevitable happened. 

  


* * *

  


Well after dusk, Byakuya finally stormed out of the tiny shop, expression murderous enough Renji was legitimately surprised the ground under his feet hadn't spontaneously burst into flames. 

“Taicho?” He ventured, after a moment, unsure if he was going to get stabbed just for approaching. 

“Urahara- _san_ ,” Byakuya said, without actually grinding his teeth even though he managed to make it sound like he was anyway, “has agreed to mediate a meeting with the Visored. He will send word when they're ready to hear what we have to say, so there is nothing more for us to do here.” 

_And thank fucking god for that_ , Renji added in his head, shivering a little as Byakuya's spirit pressure fluctuated in tune with his fury. He nodded cautiously, and followed at his usual pace, two steps behind Byakuya, when his Captain took his silence for assent and stormed away as fast and briskly as he could, without actually breaking into a dead run. Kuchiki Byakuya did not run away from a fight, after all, even one he'd so spectacularly lost as the one inside the store. 

  


* * *

  


“One day, you're going to break that boy for good.” 

Yoruichi looked over her shoulder as Kisuke rubbed the heel of his palm against the tight knot of tension on her back, but then let her head fall forward again and shrugged. He clicked his tongue in disapproval, even though he continued pushing at the knotted up muscles until she moaned. 

“It'd be good,” she said, afterwards, as they switched places and she began digging her fingers into his spine, “if he breaks. Byakuya,” she added, when Kisuke made an inquiring noise, having already lost track of the conversation. “Maybe then someone will do him a favor and put him back together properly, this time.” 

“Ah, it must be so nice,” Kisuke sighed, lips quirked into a sardonic smile, “to have such a concerned aunt looking out for your best interests. How jealous I am, of Kuchiki-taicho's good fortune.” Yoruichi pinched him, for his trouble. He laughed even as he yelped in pain, and then rolled onto his back, watching Yoruichi roll her hips and swaying somewhat, to remain on her perch. Her eyes narrowed as he continued: “Yet I can't help but notice very clearly you fail to name yourself the one who would 'put him back together properly', should the opportunity arise.” 

Yoruichi's expression grew somber and her eyes darkened. 

“Well, that's the thing, isn't it, Kisuke?” She smiled, wry. “What you've never really understood: people need to _want_ your help, before you can really save them, especially from themselves.” 

He smirked, even as he shook his head slightly. 

“You have your methods, my dear,” he said, eyes gleaming, “and I have mine.” 

  


* * *

  


The trip back to the warehouse was terrifyingly silent, though by the time Renji closed the door behind him, Byakuya had managed to get a hold of his spiritual pressure, so it was no longer quite as choking as it'd been. 

“Do you...” Renji began, and raised his hands on reflex when Byakuya glared at him. “Do you need anything, Taicho?” 

Byakuya relaxed, by degrees, closing his eyes and heaving a deep sigh. Then he surprised Renji, by allowing his shoulders to slump minutely. 

“I apologize for the outburst,” he said, expression no longer quite as pinched, and Renji tried hard not to make things worse by staring, even though he kind of wanted to. “To answer your question, some peace and quiet are all I require, Renji,” Byakuya added, mouth twitching slightly. “Feel free to do what you will, with the night, I'm afraid I will be rather poor company as it is and there is little left to do, for our mission, except wait.” 

Renji considered his options carefully, as Byakuya waited for his reply. He could leave, of course, and though he didn't really have anything in mind at the moment, he could probably figure out something to do until Byakuya was done being supremely pissed off at life itself and asked him to come back. Hell, he could just go back to Ichigo's and hang out with Rukia and keep her company on her self-appointed mission to watch over Ichigo while the moron finished not dying on them. Spending time with Rukia was always a tempting option, and Renji gave it serious thought to just take the chance as it presented itself. 

But then, Renji realized, Byakuya hadn't actually _ordered_ him to leave. 

He'd given him room to make a choice, which obviously meant he had a choice to stay. Renji struggled, sometimes, with his Captain's tendency to not say what he really meant, and instead having to decipher layers of meaning from tiny gestures and poignant word choices. But it was part and parcel of being Byakuya's lieutenant, he supposed. So he took a moment to consider, almost without wanting to really believe it was actually an option, to stay. And... do what exactly? Get drunk again? Renji wasn't really in the mood for it again, not when the hangover from the previous night had given up just barely after lunch. And Byakuya was angry, tonight, not just... morose was the best word Renji could come up with, to describe his mood the night before. So drinking was out. Maybe just talk then, though Byakuya didn't really seem to be in the mood for that either. So probably just sit awkwardly about until they passed out of sheer exhaustion. That didn't seem exactly the most fun thing in the world, Renji admitted, and almost bailed out of it entirely, about to laugh to himself that his Captain must truly be lonely, if he wanted him for company. 

But the thought struck a chord, somewhere in Renji's brain. 

Renji, who sometimes felt he was loyal to the point of sheer suicidal stupidity, entertained the thought almost morbidly, as Byakuya seemed to have tired of waiting for a reply and headed to the wide curtains that separated the sleeping area from the rest of the warehouse. There wasn't much luxury in the spartan bedding that had been provided, but again Renji noted it was certainly more than his group had been given, when they'd come to hunt Arrancar in the Human world. 

Renji concluded his loyalty was going to get him killed one day, and sighed as he followed Byakuya with a wry, resigned smile to his lips. Byakuya had already stepped outside his gigai, which was seated primly on the floor next to the bed he'd chosen for himself. It hadn't occurred to Renji to actually leave the gigai to sleep, and he had a moment of terrible doubt, that he'd misread his Captain's intentions, when he was confronted with the man in uniform. 

“Renji–“ 

Renji shrugged valiantly. 

“I'm thinking an early night will be a good idea, Taicho,” he offered as an explanation. “It's been a long day, and all.” 

Byakuya seemed like he was going to argue the point, but then Renji blinked as he reached out and pressed an ornate stamp-seal on his forehead, and he instantly popped out of his gigai. Well, Renji thought, a bit surprised as his gigai collapsed on the ground like a doll, at least it was a hell lot more dignified than Rukia's goddamn glove. He bent down to pick up the gigai and prop it shoulder-to-shoulder next to Byakuya's, occupying the space between the beds. He didn't really bother to pose it or anything, and as a result the two lifeless bodies made for quite an interesting picture. 

“I will not mind,” Byakuya said finally, as he shrugged off his Captain haori – brand new, because Yamamoto-soutaicho refused to let him go out on a mission without a suitable replacement (and loud threats of dismemberment if he managed to lose this one too) – and folded it awkwardly, “if you decide to leave later.” 

“Nah,” Renji pulled the bandanna off his forehead with a shrug. He felt much, much better as the last remnants of the hangover stayed behind in the gigai. He wondered if Byakuya's foul mood had also been left in his, and that was why he'd removed himself from it in the first place. “I'm good, Taicho.” 

He pretended not to notice when Byakuya stared a little at his tattoos, like he always did when something reminded him they were there. Renji figured he found them crass and terrible and improper for a decent lieutenant of the Gotei 13, but he'd never actually said anything to him about them. Renji sat on the bed and found it weirdly comfortable, though it was probably because some weird science thing the Twelfth did that he would probably sleep better without knowing about. 

Byakuya frowned as Renji fussed with removing his sandals and began to prepare for sleep. 

“I meant,” he said, feeling himself getting worked up about something nameless and irritating as Renji decided he was apparently going to sleep shirtless and with his hair down, which Byakuya found oddly distracting and couldn't for the life of him figure out _why_. “That I've released you from your duties as lieutenant for the night. You're not obligated to stay, Renji.” 

“Yeah,” Renji smirked, his face half obscured by hair as he rubbed his scalp after untying his hair, “but that also means I'm not obligated to leave.” He frowned a bit, considering his words carefully to the best of his ability. The night before, he'd made an impulse decision, and sticking with it had actually worked out well. So he figured he could do it again. “I'm cashing in my rank though,” he added, before Byakuya could voice the protest resting on the tip of his tongue. “The whole, right to advice my Captain thing.” 

Byakuya lowered his hands, the soul-releasing seal resting in his right and his haori in his left, as he stared at Renji with narrowed eyes. 

“Oh?” 

“See, some things you can drink off and it'll be okay,” Renji explained, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, and Byakuya concentrated on the words, least his eyes began to follow along the thick, black lines decorating almost every inch of Renji's skin. “And there are things you just sleep off, Taicho. Hangovers chief among them.” 

For a moment, it seemed like Byakuya was about to argue, but to Renji's infinite delight, he snorted softly instead. 

“Indeed?” Byakuya asked, walking over to the small table tucked in a corner of the makeshift room to place both the haori and the seal on it. “I don't suppose there is any harm in following your advice, this time.” 

“This time,” Renji quipped, teasing, and watched with fascination as Byakuya reached into his hair to loosen and remove the kenseikan. 

It seemed like a fastidious process, and putting it on probably wasn't easy, either. But, he thought fondly as he laid back on his chosen bed, Byakuya was exactly the sort of person who'd fuss over something like that, because the fussing itself added extra meaning to it. 

“I wouldn't want you to become arrogant, Abarai-fukutaicho,” Byakuya said, looking at him over his shoulder, and Renji was pretty damn sure it was his best attempt to tease back, “taking for granted I'd follow your advice.” 

Renji laughed, stretching as long as he was on the bed and watching Byakuya comb his fingers through his hair with half-lidded eyes. He imagined it'd be nice, to feel Byakuya's hair through his own fingers: it looked very soft. Renji forced himself to ignore the stray thought and instead met Byakuya's eyes with a smirk. 

“Oh, believe me, Taicho, I don't take anything for granted, with you.” 

A strange expression Renji had never seen before on Byakuya's face settled on it, making his Captain look simultaneously very young and very old. Renji felt a twinge inside him that he couldn't adequately name. 

“Yes,” Byakuya said, reaching out to sit on his bed with a small, thoughtful frown, “I am starting to see that might be the case.” 

He was surprised by how utterly exhausted he felt, as soon as the plush bedding sank a bit under his weight, and he was asleep before Renji finished composing a suitable reply to that. 

  


* * *

  



	6. Hospitality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isshin finds out Byakuya will actually be staying in Karakura for a while and is offended. Zaraki considers mounting a rescue, because he's nice like that. Yuzu and Karin are sharper than they're young. And Renji's life continues to make no sense at all.

  


* * *

  


VI – Hospitality 

  


* * *

  


Renji felt a little silly, for not having anticipated this complication. 

He'd commented on it before, while his Captain was busy fighting off Urahara and Yoruichi's increasingly poignant attempts to set fire to his composure and then maybe scatter the ashes to the wind, but he hadn't really internalized the insight enough to actually predict the consequences. 

Kuchiki Byakuya was one of the most impatient people Renji had ever met. 

It was just that he had to be secretive about it, like with everything else. He couldn't just throw an honest tantrum, like Ikkaku would do when waiting for his booze to be served in a bar, for example. He didn't nag, either, like Shuuhei was oh so very good at, whenever Renji didn't deliver the next installment of his column on time. No, Byakuya stewed and sat around, staring at nothing in particular while his spiritual pressure began to roll impatiently like a cat in a cage. Renji had been hopeful his mood had improved after a good night's sleep, considering he'd actually waited for Renji to wake up on his own and hadn't even chided him for laziness like Renji had half expected him to. Hell, Byakuya had been gracious enough to let Renji choose their breakfast venue again; that was almost magnanimous of him. 

But then they had walked out into the street, and suddenly the day sprawled ahead of them like an angry, yawning chasm. They didn't have anything to do, anymore, and the restlessness settled in almost immediately. If Renji had been alone, or with anyone else, he'd have shrugged it off and gone off to train or to hang out with Rukia or hell, check on Ishida, Orihime and Chad and see how they were holding on. But Renji couldn't technically go off on his own without his Captain giving him leave to, because the waiting was technically part of the mission and that meant Renji wasn't the one calling the shots. So he kept his mouth shut and walked after Byakuya, two steps behind, always, and wondered what his Captain would do. 

Walk around aimlessly, it turned out, not that Renji was feeling like calling Byakuya out on it. It seemed like they walked the entirety of Karakura town, with Byakuya's brisk, business-like steps and his silent, cool stares parting crowds wherever they encountered them. Renji was slouching, hands in the pockets of his pants, as they finally made their way back to the warehouse. 

Renji wasn't tired so much as he was bored, but he regretted the thought when they found Shiba-or-Kurosaki-it-was-still-terrible-either-way Isshin waiting for them, wide grin on his face. 

With _Rukia_ standing next to him. 

Rukia, who looked somewhere between devious, amused and absolutely delighted. Renji tried to remember why he loved her so much, more so when Isshin's scowl darkened enough to give him pause. 

“You're staying in my city for more than a night and you don't even consider asking for hospitality, Kuchiki Byakuya, I am _appalled_.” 

On the upside, Renji thought desperately, that answered one of the greatest questions he'd ever asked: what did panic look like, on Byakuya's face? 

Now he knew. 

  


* * *

  


“You're not going to the Human world.” 

Zaraki paused, just as he was about to slide off the bedding. The bedding for the Captain of the Fourth was considerably nicer than that for the Captain of the Eleventh, though he wasn't about to admit he noticed that kind of thing. People would be stupid about it, if he mentioned it. He snorted and looked at his right, where Retsu was lying on her side, hair cascading down her face and providing shadows for it that brought back many, many memories. Her smile, however, was the same, fangless curve that had the entirety of the Gotei 13 trained like whipped dogs. 

“Who said anything about that?” He growled, reaching a hand to scratch his scalp and pretending not to be really fucking annoyed by the fact she saw right through him. 

Her smile sharpened by degrees, and there was the urge, right on cue, for Zaraki to lunge at her, teeth first. Instead he gave in to the lesser urge and leaned in to lick the scar at the base of her throat, peeking at him just above her collar. Her fingers dug into his hair, clutching at the strands like a command, but she didn't pull him away. Didn't push him any further either. Zaraki pressed a surprisingly quiet, wry laugh against her skin and felt her spiritual pressure twitch just barely beneath the weight of his. 

“No one did,” Retsu replied, and her hold lessened until it was a caress, her fingers carding through his hair in a mockery of affection. “Because you are not going to the Human world.” 

“You bitch at me when I'm not nice,” Zaraki complained, sneering as he settled back in place, half sprawled on her. “You bitch at me when I am.” He snorted again, when Retsu flicked his ear with a sharp nail. “Not exactly easy, y'know, making you happy.” 

That was a lie and they both knew it. The problem was not making either of them happy, after all. The problem was there was probably not gonna be a lot of survivors in the aftermath of that. Zaraki felt he had mellowed out, over the decades wearing a Captain's haori: he found mutually assured destruction to be the closest thing to happiness he could hope for, and only rarely felt the urge to kick the anthill and watch everything burn down to nothing. He knew what he'd been aiming for, when he set out to reach the Seireitei, with Yachiru on his shoulder and a duo of bickering twits watching his back. He'd never truly stopped wanting it, either. But he was not bitter or deluded enough to not realize that what he'd gotten instead was a good enough placeholder. Nothing permanent, they both knew damn well, but something they would not deeply hate if went on unchecked for a few decades or centuries longer. After all, they could end it, any time they chose, and the ending would be spectacular and devastating like all proper endings should be. 

But for something to end, it needed to be done. 

And Zaraki Kenpachi, Captain of the Eleventh, and Unohana Retsu, Captain of the Fourth, were far from being done with each other, just yet. 

“Do enlighten me, Zaraki-taicho,” Retsu said, voice melodious like the echo of shamisen strings, as he settled his head on her shoulder, pressing his ear to her skin as if to hear the ghost of her heartbeat, “how exactly is letting you go and harass Kuchiki-taicho during his very important mission in the Human world, to be considered nice by any standard?” 

Zaraki snickered. 

“Well, I'd reckon I'd be either saving him from absolute fucking boredom,” he replied, looking up at her with a wide, malicious smirk. “Or I'd be saving him the indignity of making doe-eyes at Abarai.” Zaraki shrugged. “Either way, everyone wins. Except Abarai, I guess, but if the fucker likes Kuchiki-hime making eyes at him, he gotta grow a spine and say so. It ain't gonna happen otherwise.” 

“How noble and thoughtful of you,” Retsu snorted and deftly caught a hand before it could start wandering, one eyebrow arched warningly. “Truly admirable.” 

Zaraki used his free hand to hoist himself up, raising over her until his face was inches away from hers. 

“I just spent three days, and their nights, babysitting Kurotsuchi Mayuri.” Zaraki arched both eyebrows and paused a moment, to let the statement sink in properly. “And I didn't even murder him.” 

“And I suppose you think that merits a reward?” Retsu reached with her own free hand to hold his chin, thumb rubbing against the scar that ended abruptly there. “For doing as you were told?” 

“See?” He leaned in closer, until they were breathing the same air, and spoke the words against her lips. “Nothing ever makes you happy.” 

Zaraki's eyes widened when he was shoved off unceremoniously, as Retsu sat up abruptly. Her black, glossy hair fell down her shoulders and her back, with little waves here and there, from both the braid and sleep. She clicked her tongue reprovingly, waving a hand at him as she stood up and pulled her clothes back into a semblance of order. Zaraki watched without protesting, because there was pleasure in watching the moment she melted into herself, all her sharp edges dulled down into warnings, rather than outright declarations of war. He never quite tired of it, watching her navigate the labyrinth of her own personality, and how every dead end and contradictory corner were truly hers, as unrepentantly as nothing else. 

“I can think of a few things,” she told him, pausing by the door. “Alas, I have a shift change to oversee. Have a good day, Zaraki-taicho.” 

Zaraki laughed as he fell back into the soft bedding, pressing a hand to his face, and refused to care if anyone heard or recognized his voice. 

  


* * *

  


Byakuya wished someone would save him. 

Hell, he wished Zaraki would save him. Just... burst through the door – or the wall, why not, if he was going to indulge in childish fantasies, he might as well go all out – and demand a fight. And of course Byakuya would be honor bound to oblige, considering the offense towards his host. And then maybe they could beat each other silly for an hour or six and by the time Byakuya came back to inform Isshin that the slight had been paid for in full, he would be too damn exhausted to care if the man decided to hug him. 

The children were staring at him. 

He was used to people staring at him, even children. He knew well how to tilt his head just barely at an angle to be able to pretend he wasn't noticing while keeping an eye on whoever stared at him. He was well versed in the art of handling Yachiru, who was the most tiresome, trying, outrageous child he'd ever known. So it wasn't the staring, per se, that was quietly and slowly grinding his sanity to dust and scattering to the winds. Nor was it the fact it was children doing it. 

No, it was the fact they had his mother's _face_. 

Karin had the same nose and the beginnings of his mother's utmost royal cheekbones. Yuzu had her _eyes_. And they were both staring at him, with the shrewd, cautious intelligence that he'd learned was all but branded into the Shiba clan's blood. He remembered, carefully not meeting their eyes, that it had been that same brilliance that had fueled all the wrong minds and eventually decimated them. 

Kuchiki Byakuya would never run away from a battle, but from this merciless torment at the expense of his memories? He would run and not feel his honor tarnished in the slightest. If only he knew how, at least. And if only he hadn't walked head first into it by his own choice, as well. Isshin had offered, and Byakuya could have declined to meet his... cousins. But he'd taken the offer as a challenge, instead, and now he was not entirely sure he was prepared to handle it. 

“You're one of them, aren't you,” Karin said, finally breaking the silence, her eyes narrowed just a bit. “A shinigami.” 

Byakuya's eyes widened, but before he could compose a suitable lie, Yuzu interjected, carefully looking away. 

“We're not supposed to know,” she said, a little hushed, and it only made Isshin's laughter and Renji's reluctant, mildly panicked chuckles echo louder, all the way from the kitchen. “Dad and Nii-san keep making up excuses, only...” 

“Only we're not stupid,” Karin concluded, offering a one shoulder shrug. “We can feel it, even if you're supposed to be hiding it. And Ichigo is terrible at hiding things.” She offered a thin, small smile, her expression saddening somewhat as Byakuya contemplated what a terrible burden they carried, being the family of the great hero. “And we were there, when the city was destroyed, only it wasn't.” 

“It was scary,” Yuzu admitted, and then looked up at Byakuya with those eyes that hurt him every time he saw them, and yet couldn't stop looking at once he started. “But we were brave. We didn't cry.” She chuckled wryly. “We didn't even tell Dad.” 

“He keeps his secrets so we keep ours,” Karin nodded defiantly as she spoke, even as she licked her lips nervously. “Fair's fair, right?” 

“Parents tend to keep an awful lot of secrets from their children,” Byakuya conceded, and found himself half-smiling despite the sheer terror he felt coursing through his veins. “So their children keep their own, in turn. Secrets can be dangerous things, though.” He thought of Rukia, dressed in white and raised up in the air, awaiting death, and the words stuck in his throat, refusing to flow. “And not all of them are worth keeping.” He let out a soft sigh. “Yes, I am a shinigami. But I'm not here to hurt you, or your family.” 

“Is Renji a shinigami too?” Yuzu asked, eyebrows arched even as Karin's mouth pressed into a thin line. 

She caught the implications, Byakuya thought, about the possibility of shinigami coming one day, to hunt them down. She was a frighteningly smart child, and he was only slightly embarrassed, to think she reminded him of himself, perhaps a little. 

“Yes,” Byakuya answered, a small smile tugging at his lips. “He is my lieutenant, and I am his Captain.” 

“Dad said you were our cousin,” Karin snorted, clearly expecting Byakuya to confirm her suspicions that it was a lie. 

He could, of course. He had a frighteningly good chance of getting away with it. But he could not look at his mother's face, fragmented and reorganized into theirs, and not feel like he was spitting on her grave, by denying their shared blood. 

“It is true,” he said, and went as far as to offer a shrug of his own, except his was more the implication of a shrug than any actual movement. “My mother was his sister.” 

He could see the wheels turning inside Karin's head, but once more, before she could piece together her thoughts and speak them outloud, Yuzu giggled. 

“Does that mean Rukia-nee-san is our cousin too?” 

Not by blood, Byakuya should have said, but instead what came out his mouth was: “Of course.” 

And just like that, he realized, beyond politics and vows, it was the truth. 

  


* * *

  


“You're hovering,” Rukia observed, unable to keep the smirk off her face as Renji jolted in surprise and turned to give her a dirty look. “Nii-san is extremely good with children, Renji, he'd be offended to know you doubt his skill.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Renji snapped, face flushed with embarrassment. “It's not like that.” 

But, he admitted to himself, he _had_ been hovering anxiously by the door, casting the occasional worried look over to the living room. It was bizarre, in Renji's humble opinion, to see Byakuya in human clothes, sitting on the couch with a girl at each side, talking quietly. He'd been bracing for an explosion ever since Isshin had unceremoniously dragged them back to his home, ranting at Byakuya's poor manners the whole time. Rukia had been amused, more than anything, which lead Renji to wonder just how much she'd learned, in the days she'd spent watching over Ichigo. She certainly looked at home. 

Byakuya's reaction to the twins had been nothing like Renji had expected, even though he still wasn't quite sure what he'd been bracing for, exactly. Rukia and Isshin had dragged him into the kitchen, where he'd awkwardly helped set out dinner to the best of his ability, while Byakuya entertained his... cousins. And holy shit was that ever going to stop tripping Renji's brain? Not likely. 

“You haven't been fighting again, have you?” Rukia asked, suddenly serious and worried in a way that made Renji ache a little. 

“We're fine,” Renji replied, shrugging awkwardly. “We've... reached an agreement? We're good, honest.” When she didn't look entirely convinced, Renji allowed himself a grin and shared with her his secret. “He's even agreed to train me.” 

Because it was Rukia, and Renji had learned that keeping secrets from her only ended up in despair. Her eyes lit up in delight. 

“Really?” She asked, excited. 

“Really,” Renji nodded, allowing a little bit of his own giddiness to shine through. “I'm gonna get so strong, you ain't gonna believe it.” 

“What I don't believe,” Isshin interrupted, eyebrows arched as Renji jolted again and Rukia tried to swallow back a laugh, “is that I told you both to set the table like five minutes ago.” 

“Sorry, Kurosaki-san,” Rukia said placatingly, then grinned when he arched an imperious eyebrow at her, and Renji wasn't sure how she did it, because suddenly the man looked terrifying. “Fine, fine, Kurosaki- _ji_ -san.” 

Renji's brain fried a little. 

“Just because you're the cutest of my nieces does not mean you're getting a free pass, Rukia-chan,” Isshin replied, grinning back at her. 

“Aren't I the only niece you have?” Rukia teased, eyebrows arched. 

“No,” Isshin's expression sobered a little. “But you're the only one who will not literally land a flying kick _on my face_ to say hello.” Abruptly, he reached out to grab Rukia's hands dramatically. “You wouldn't kick me in the face just to say hi, now would you, Rukia-chan?” 

“That is not the Kuchiki way, esteemed uncle,” Rukia replied, mock-demure, and Renji gave up on the madness that had become his life, because he grabbed the plates and stomped out to put them on the table, just for a chance to escape the trainwreck. 

  


* * *

  


“Renji?” 

It was late and the world was an insane mess he didn't want to deal with, but when his Captain called, Renji always answered. Even if he really, really didn't want to. He wasn't entirely sure he liked the new sleeping arrangements – soft bedding on the floor of the guest room that smelled of flowers and something sweet – but he was too tired to complain. And honestly, too terrified of the endless fountain of energy and melodrama that the head of the house could be, to risk it. So he sat up, the covers falling down to his waist as he looked over to where Byakuya was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. 

“Taicho?” 

Dark grey eyes sought his in the dark, Byakuya's brows pulled together into a very small, confused frown. He seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment, before he confessed his ignorance with a tint of shame. 

“What is a video game?” 

Renji stared. 

“What?” 

“I confess, I might have agreed to play one such thing with Yuzu and Karin tomorrow, but I realize entirely too late I am not sure what I've agreed to.” 

Renji laid back down and rolled onto his side, closing his eyes with a snort. 

“You'll do fine, Taicho,” he assured him, barely resisting the urge to snicker, “they haven't invented something you're not good at, right?” 

Byakuya refused to comment, for only embarrassing, ludicrous things came to mind. 

  


* * *

  



	7. Resilience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Videogames are played (and hated). Errands are run (and avoided). Byakuya and Rukia bond over loss. Renji just sort of deals, to the best of his ability.

  


* * *

  


VII – Resilience 

  


* * *

  


After careful, thoughtful consideration, Kuchiki Byakuya concluded that he did not like video games. 

Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact he royally sucked at them. The very notion that he would be so petty was ludicrous. Clearly, the damn thing was broken, because he had excellent reflexes, as all those poor, unfortunate souls that ever ran into his sword could attest. And yet somehow, he was apparently physically incapable of timing the pressing on a button to avoid landing on a spike pit. 

Karin was oddly philosophical about it. 

“It's not your fault, y'know,” she said, leaning back on the couch at his right as the irritatingly chirpy music ended abruptly and then started from the beginning, as Byakuya's chosen avatar was dropped back to the start of the level. _Again_. “Yuzu's the only monster in this house who can ever beat past level one.” 

“Mean!” Yuzu cried out, sticking out her bottom lip and leaning on Byakuya to reach over behind him and poke at Karin. Byakuya's tiny pixelated block avatar died about six times in succession, smashing on the first obstacle uncontested as he tried his best to process what had just happened. “It's really easy once you get the hang of it, really! It's all about the rhythm!” 

Clearly unconvinced, and still a little unbalanced by the fact the Kurosaki children seemed to have absolutely no notion of personal space, he offered the control to Yuzu with a risen eyebrow and an expectant expression on his face. She blushed a little, but her smile was confident when she took it from him. 

“See?” She smiled brightly, as she completed the infuriating tutorial level barely looking at the screen. “It's all about rhythm and practice! I mean the first few are easy, but it gets more and more complicated as you go on. But it also looks so pretty! And the music is nice.” She beamed a bit and fussed a bit on a series of screens, until she settled on one that had, much to Byakuya's confusion, a demonic angry face right next to the word I N S A N E. “Let me show you my favorite level.” 

Byakuya discovered two things, in quick succession: that Yuzu had also inherited his mother's terrifyingly determined expression when she was focused on something, and that there was such a thing as shunpo for fingers. 

He experienced the most bizarre minute and a half of his life, as the chirpy music gave way to some strange, disturbing sound he could best describe as a weaponized, roaring ambient noise. All the while, Yuzu smirked lightly as her little pink and purple avatar became a series of shapes Byakuya didn't have enough time to properly name. To round up the absolute assassination of his senses, the screen flashed through bright, colorful designs that threatened to give Byakuya a migraine, all in tune with that weirdly catchy if profoundly disturbing tune. 

Video games were _evil_. 

“Monster,” Karin snickered as Yuzu offered a victory sign in the aftermath of such a vicious attack on Byakuya's sanity. She stuck her tongue out at her sister, but all Karin did was roll her eyes. “My turn now. Let's play something actually fun.” 

Byakuya dreaded to find out what _she_ considered fun. 

  


* * *

  


Renji thought it was grossly unfair that Byakuya got to laze the day away, playing with the girls, while he'd been summarily kicked out, with a handful of money and a post-it note full of near-illegible scribbles that he supposed were groceries and chores he was meant to complete. 

Well, he thought, sighing with resignation, at least it wasn't a goddamn broom. 

God, he was tired of paying for his trips to the Human world with a broom in hand. 

But, he supposed, ignoring the way some people muttered or stared or flat out switched to the opposite sidewalk when they saw him, Byakuya would not approve if he slacked off on his duties. And if Kurosaki-or-Shiba-for-the-love-of-god-he-was-gonna-have-to-make-up-his-mind-about-one-or-the-other-eventually-wasn't-he Isshin wanted him to run errands for him, Renji was gonna run the fastest, _bestest_ errands ever. 

That'd show him. 

And if by doing that, he also got a chance to check up on his friends and run a few errands of his own, well that was just being strategic and efficient, wasn't it? 

  


* * *

  


After he escaped the twins, Byakuya found himself looking for Renji or Rukia, in need of familiar company that didn't stir such conflicting feelings at each and every moment. He expected to find them both in Ichigo's room, watching over his unconscious form, but only Rukia was there, no longer smiling or amused. Renji was nowhere to be seen. 

Byakuya considered leaving her be, but he noticed the way her shoulders had slumped slightly and her eyes looked dim, compared to their brightness earlier. He reasoned that, if he could bury his emotions behind a wall of coldness, Rukia could very well bury hers behind good will, and felt very, very stupid for not thinking of it earlier. So he stepped in, quietly, and closed the door behind him. 

“You must think I am very silly,” Rukia said, breaking the silence in the room, sitting on the floor by Ichigo's bed, focused on watching the steady rhythm of his breathing. “Staying by his side even if I know he will not be waking up for another two or three weeks more.” She looked down at her hands, folded neatly on her lap, and offered a tiny, sad smile. “But I can't bear the thought of him waking up when I'm not here, and missing my last chance to see him.” 

Byakuya considered how to best answer that, trying to force his mouth to work around the words he so desperately wanted to share, because if there was one thing he understood with visceral clarity, it was grief. The loss of someone precious and irreplaceable that sank into one's soul and dragged you down until air itself was like lead in your lungs. That all consuming sorrow that devoured color and scents and sounds, warping reality into a grey splatter of numbed sensations and empty spaces so perfectly defined by what was missing. He thought of the dreadful pit he'd just recently escaped from, and which he knew, in his soul, he'd first fallen into because of Hisana's death. The thought of Rukia sharing his experience made him determined not to allow it. 

He moved to sit next to her, instead, close enough their clothes rustled against each other as he settled in place. 

“I would never dare,” Byakuya said, as he carefully, slowly reached out to hold her hand in his, “to ridicule your feelings.” 

Her fingers were thinner and more delicate than his own, but there was strength in her grip as she held onto his hand. She had always been so deceptively fragile, in his eyes. So overwhelmed by the memory of her sister, Byakuya admitted with not a small amount of regret, that it had taken him far too long to realize how resilient and truly powerful she was. He'd called her his pride, in the heat of battle: so consumed by fury and outrage at the sight of her, crumpled on the ground, that he couldn't really remember the fight that had followed, only the viciously feral satisfaction, when his opponent died. Because he'd finally been able to protect her with his own strength. 

Byakuya had had a quiet, earth shattering epiphany, as he watched that boy from the Fourth scramble to heal her wounds: he had protected her, because of _her_. Undoubtedly, because she was Hisana's sister and he'd vowed to keep her safe. But also because he refused to exist in a world where her laughter and her smiles no longer lit up his life. He'd killed for her, and he would do it again, without remorse, because she was his honor and his pride. He knew, with certainty that should have terrified him, but instead only left him feeling strangely contented, that were the events of the Ryoka invasion be repeated, now, he would not stand back and let Soul Society's parody of justice trample all over his sister, his Rukia. He would dishonor his name, betray his blood, and reject everything in he'd ever stood for, and he would not find it in himself to care. 

Byakuya thought of Renji, bloodied and forced to bow at his feet, brave enough to do what Byakuya could not, and felt shame swell and fill up his lungs. Because yes, he understood, now. He did not deserve the forgiveness that had been so easily granted, afterwards. Nor did he feel worthy of the loyalty he was still subject to. Renji would never accept an apology, though, that Byakuya knew for certain. Renji would be horrified, were he to bow to him in repentance for his own arrogant ignorance and the deluded insults he'd thrown at his face. Because Renji had forgiven the slight long before Byakuya realized there had been one in the first place, and it was not in his nature to hold a grudge, once the forgiveness had been granted. 

“I feel silly, nonetheless,” Rukia murmured, dragging Byakuya out of his circular thoughts. She was smiling, but her eyes were sad in a soul-crushingly familiar way that it physically hurt him to see her that way. “He's not _dead_ ,” she said, a bitter snort echoing under her breath. “He won't be dead for many, many years, and yet, I can't help but feel like mourning.” 

“He's not dead, but you have lost him, in a way,” Byakuya told her, and licked his lips as she leaned her weight on his side, her fingers entwined with his own. “Loss is memories you'll never have, moments you will never share. It's irrational, at its core, the tangled web of what-if that makes it hard to breathe, but there's nothing silly in acknowledging what's been taken from you.” 

“I want to be happy for him,” Rukia whispered, closing her eyes as she pressed her cheek against Byakuya's arm. “I want his last memory of me to be a smile. But the longer I wait, the less likely it seems I will manage it.” When Byakuya didn't say anything – because he wasn't entirely sure there was anything for him to say – Rukia offered a soft, awkward chuckle and hid half her face against his sleeve. “See? Whining like the silly little girl I am.” 

Byakuya pursed his lips and pulled his hand from hers, just to be able to tilt her chin up and force her to stop trying to hide herself into his side. Rukia offered a pitiful attempt at a smile, one that made Byakuya scowl in disapproval almost on reflex. 

“He will remember you as you are, for better or for worse, because he knows you for who you are.” When her tears became more than just implications gathering at the corners of her eyes, Byakuya let go of her face and allowed her to lean fully into his side. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, both a promise and permission. “That, no one will ever take from you.” 

When sobs began to rock her frame in earnest, Byakuya said nothing. 

He had said nothing as well, last time he'd seen her cry like this, Shiba Kaien's blood digging deep under her nails. But he wanted to believe, more than anything else in the world, that this time he was actually helping, somehow, as he leaned in to rest his chin on the top of her head. 

  


* * *

  


Orihime was taking it the hardest, Renji discovered, though he was not surprised by it. She had smiled at him, when he ran into her, and offered to help with the shopping he was supposed to be doing. She was bubbly and cheerful and terribly helpful, as always, but there was a wane in her eyes that even Renji could see clearly. So he'd offered to buy her lunch, shrugging when she looked surprised, and tried his best to be distracting. 

Ishida was his snotty, almost aloof self, pretending he was fine and everything was fine, and so Renji knew the kid was probably freaking out still, particularly when he decided to invite himself along. Renji didn't protest, if only because Ishida was good help, trying to distract Orihime and she giggled every time Renji needled him into a bickering fit. 

Chad was quiet and resigned in that ever expansive way of his that Renji knew well from his time training with him. Mouth pulled into a subtle, grim smile, he said little, but Renji felt he understood a lot. 

He hadn't expected them to be alright, not after the hell they'd gone through together – and Renji remembered, all at once, that these were kids, actual kids, wearing their years on their faces and pockets of ageless wisdom tucked inside their hearts and bottomless bravery wound tight around their souls, but kids nonetheless, and he hoped Aizen rotted forever in the dark – but they were holding on, letting the momentum of one day carry into the next, as the End of the World continued to loom with each step they took away from it. They weren't whole, not after loss and fear had left their mark, as permanent on their souls as the ink on his skin. 

But they were thriving. They were moving on. And for that, Renji respected them more than he would ever say. So he teased Ishida and complimented Orihime and cracked jokes until Chad snorted a laugh. 

And when they politely but pointedly refused to come back with him, after it was all said and done, Renji didn't hold it against them. But he thought, as he watched them go, that it was a very sad thing, that they no longer looked like kids at all, for all they really were. 

  


* * *

  


“Your lieutenant is absolutely useless,” Isshin sighed, and ignored the dark, warning glare Byakuya gave him for his troubles. “Useless!” He insisted, even though Byakuya's spiritual pressure began to twitch in annoyance. “It's gotten dark already and he's not back yet? I can't see you putting up with that kind of thing, dear nephew~” 

“Because I do not,” Byakuya said, voice frosty enough Rukia shivered a little. She was surprised, however, at the vehemence in his tone. “Serves you right, though, for trying to order him around.” 

“Oh my,” Isshin grinned teasingly, and Byakuya's expression darkened even further, “someone's territorial.” 

Rukia felt the need to step in and maybe stop the unrelenting teasing, but she was completely taken aback by Byakuya's curt, biting response. 

“You will cease to speak of my lieutenant in that tone,” he demanded, eyes gleaming dangerously, “or you will cease to speak of him entirely.” 

She'd never seen her brother defend Renji so fiercely before. Hell, she'd never seen her brother defend Renji, period. She thought of his kindness, earlier in the day, his arm around her shoulders and his voice sincere and almost... loving. He was her brother, alright. He was still quiet and pensive and dignified, but Rukia realized there was something different about him, something passionate she'd more willingly associate with Renji, than with him. And yet... 

She wondered what other things she might have missed, in her current self-imposed exile, and promised to herself to catch up on all of them, as soon as she went home. 

“Honestly,” Isshin laughed, and reached a hand to ruffle Byakuya's hair, only to have him dodge, after learning his lesson last time. Isshin rolled his eyes. “You're too–“ 

There was a pulse of reiatsu somewhere in the city, followed by a flare of Renji's flickering own. 

“You two go,” Isshin said seriously, expression determined. “I'll stay and look after the girls.” 

  


* * *

  


Renji swore under his breath, as he ran down the street as fast as the gigai would allow. He'd been surprised by the ambush, and he cursed his carelessness, because it'd cost him his soul candy dispenser. Now he was stuck inside his material body, unable to properly fight off his pursuers effectively. 

And strangely enough, the only thing he could think of, was that Byakuya would scold him for it, once it was all over. 

“Too slow,” the female Arrancar purred into his ear, as he turned around a corner, before she punched him straight into a wall. 

“Fuck off,” Renji coughed, struggling to stand up, and let out a cry of pain when the other, silent Arrancar kicked him hard enough he skid down the pavement like a rock thrown across a pond. “Shit.” 

They leaped at him, murder in their eyes, and all Renji could do was brace for impact. 

It never came. 

Renji opened his eyes to find the imposing figure of his Captain standing between him and his attackers, who'd found themselves slamming face first into senbonzakura's razor petals. 

“Taicho!” Renji exclaimed in surprise, “I–“ 

“Later,” Byakuya muttered, imperiously, and shifted his attention to the battle in front of him, once he was certain Renji's injuries were not life-threatening. 

“Kuchiki,” one of the Arrancar, the man, growled at him with a wide, disturbing smile, before they leaped at him in earnest. 

It wasn't much of a battle, really. Even with the limiter currently curbing his power, Byakuya could tell precisely how outclassed the two Arrancar really were. In honor to the truth, Renji himself should have been perfectly capable of dealing with them without much trouble, had he not been stuck inside his gigai. But he narrowed his eyes, as something changed in them, when they saw him. Byakuya didn't like it, and so resolved to be rid of them as soon as possible. Renji watched his Captain push against the Arrancar with cold, calculated strikes, his shikai whirling around him. 

When Rukia arrived, the battle was almost over, but she stepped in nonetheless, to fight alongside her brother once she'd made sure Renji was alright. Byakuya had left her behind, as soon as they stepped out of their gigai, hurrying along to find Renji with a zeal Rukia had never seen before. She didn't think much of it, though, except for feeling glad that they truly seemed to have worked out all those awkward, painful things between them. 

It should have been over from the start, really, except the female Arrancar threw her companion into the path of their combined attacks as a distraction, and aimed her claws at Renji's chest instead. He had a split second to see the blow coming, and hate himself for being stuck and physically unable to dodge it, but once more, even as he braced for impact, it never came. 

“Nii-sama!” Rukia cried out, as Byakuya intercepted the strike with his body, not even flinching as the claws tore deep gouges on his side. 

“Gotcha,” the Arrancar whispered, sneering, and cut off her arm before Byakuya could react. 

She threw it into the air, where it was swallowed by a garganta, by taking advantage of the distraction. Byakuya noticed she didn't even try to run, when Senbonzakura closed in on her, all at once. There was nothing left of her, afterward, but as his sword reformed in his hand, Byakuya stared up at the sky with narrowed eyes. 

“Taicho...” Renji whispered, staring at the thick, bleeding wounds staining Byakuya's haori. 

"Nii-sama," Rukia insisted, coming to stand before him, "are you alright? We should have your wounds tended to!" 

“It's nothing,” he said, in a tone that book no arguments, despite the concerned looks he was being subjected to, “we should go back, now. Can you walk, Renji?” 

Renji scowled, feeling supremely guilty. 

“I'm fine.” 

Thanks to you. 

“Then let us go,” Byakuya ordered, though his voice softened a little when he caught sight of Rukia's own frown. “Please,” he added, solely for her benefit. 

There was very little they could do to argue against that, so quietly, they went. 

  


* * *

  



	8. Foundations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the Arrancar incident is... awkward. And drunken. And did I mention _awkward_?

  


* * *

  


VIII – Foundations 

  


* * *

  


“You're angry,” Byakuya noted almost absently, as he raised his arms and let Renji wrap the bandages around his chest. 

Isshin had seen to him, when they arrived, and then gone to fetch bandages to patch him up once he'd convinced himself that though deep and somewhat painful, the wounds were not terribly dangerous to his health. But instead of Isshin, Renji had come back into the room, carrying the bandages and looking tempestuous. There was a jerky quality to his lieutenant's movements as he wrapped him up, Byakuya noticed, but Renji's fingers were decidedly careful as they looked after his injuries. He wasn't quite sure what the redhead might have said, to keep Isshin and his fussing outside, but Byakuya appreciated it. 

Well, he had, until he'd gotten a good look at Renji's face and seen the incandescent fury burning in his eyes. 

“No fucking shit,” Renji muttered under his breath, but then, realizing Byakuya had actually heard him, he clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I'm not angry at you, Taicho. I'm pissed at myself.” When Byakuya continued to look at him, waiting for him to go on, Renji rolled his eyes. “I got you hurt.” 

“I'm fairly certain it wasn't your hand trying to rip a hole through my chest, Renji,” Byakuya said, frowning. “I'd hardly blame you for this. It's barely an inconvenience.” 

“No,” Renji scowled, “but it was my stupidity that caused you to get involved anyway. I was the one who got caught off-guard and fucked up. You saw what they were like, I could have taken them on my own. I've killed stronger things.” Renji huffed in frustration, tying up the bandages behind Byakuya and running a hand along them just to make sure he hadn't tangled them up. He didn't notice the way Byakuya's breathing hitched minutely at the almost-caress, though, he was too agitated. “I would have gotten them on my own, if I hadn't been stupid enough to lose my soul candy dispenser in the beginning.” 

“You were careless,” Byakuya agreed, desperately trying to cling to his composure as he slid his clothes back on, hoping once fully clothed, his strange, newfound habit to be distracted by everything Renji did would go away entirely. 

Instead, he regretted the words, when Renji flinched slightly and looked at him, waiting for the lecture. Byakuya found himself not in the mood to lecture, however. It was a foreign concept. Objectively, Renji had made a mistake, and Byakuya, as his Captain and the party most injured by the effects of said mistake, was downright entitled to berate him for it. But Renji was already angry at himself and entirely too aware of what he'd done wrong, and Byakuya realized a lecture would do nothing else but further sour the mood of the night. He pressed a hand to his side and let out a small sigh. 

“But so was I,” he said, as a peace offering, relishing in the slight widening of Renji's eyes. It had been impulsive, after all. He'd sent Senbonzakura to shield Renji, only to remember, at the last possible second, that he himself was faster than his zanpakuto. His body had already moved before he could finish the thought. “So we will both have to endeavor it does not happen again.” 

“Don't do that,” Renji snapped darkly, gathering up the supplies and purposely turning his back to Byakuya, under the pretense of putting them away, even if he didn't really know where they were supposed to go. 

“Don't do what?” Byakuya asked, sliding off the exam table Isshin had forced him onto, and brushing invisible lint off his clothes. 

The haori, he realized, was thankfully not ruined, but he had a feeling the Captain Commander was still going to want to have words with him, about the long, bloodied gashes on it. It looked, Byakuya thought a tad morbidly, like Zaraki's haori, torn and bloodied, though he was sure the Captain of the Eleventh would have only let it get that way after a far more entertaining fight. 

“Don't just shrug it off,” Renji said, brow furrowed. “ _I fucked up._ ” 

“So we've established,” Byakuya agreed, tone dry as he found himself slightly annoyed with Renji's bizarre mood. 

He had half a mind to chide him for his language, if only to change the subject already, but something about the way Renji moved had Byakuya on edge. 

“Exactly,” Renji insisted, hands resting on a counter as he glared darkly at the cabinets, just so he wouldn't have to turn around. If he'd turned around, he would have seen the half-way irritated, mostly puzzled look on Byakuya's face. “ _I_ fucked up. _I_ should deal with the consequences.” 

Byakuya was tempted to snark at Renji and ask if he wanted the injuries for himself, because transferring them over to Renji was not a feat within his skill set. But something about the thought became solid in Byakuya's mind and refused to go away. And he remembered, even though he tried to forget it and Renji worked so hard to make it easier to forget, that Renji came from the Eleventh. 

And mistakes were paid for in blood, in the Eleventh. 

“Renji,” Byakuya said, his voice hardening somewhat in disapproval, as he stood up behind his lieutenant and felt a slight pang of vexation at Renji's height because it nearly nullified the attempt at intimidation entirely. “ _Renji_ ,” he insisted, when he refused to turn to face him until Byakuya placed a hand on his shoulder. He still wouldn't meet his eyes. “You want to be punished for this.” 

Byakuya felt a flare of irrational annoyance at the entirety of the Eleventh Division, when all Renji did was offer a one-shoulder shrug. He almost snapped that such barbaric customs had no place in the Sixth and that he expected Renji to internalize that immediately. And besides, Byakuya thought somewhat grumpily, he was so very rarely generous enough to forgive a slight; Renji should be glad he'd chosen to ignore his blunder this time. 

But then Byakuya remembered Renji bloodied and torn to shreds by his own sword, forced to bow at his feet, and how they never really talked about that fight, afterwards. How they both seemed to have tacitly agreed to never bring it up again, and how strangely clear the air had been, ever since. Byakuya was fully aware he had summarily pretended the fight never happened because he had been too ashamed by his own behavior and the sheer horror that had been revealed shortly after, with Aizen's betrayal and Rukia's fate, to articulate any feelings he had about the matter. He'd always assumed Renji had been simply glad to not have been demoted or kicked out of the Sixth entirely, and, in what Byakuya was starting to think had been a blunder of his own, motivated himself to work harder after the dust settled, to make up for his own weakness. Because even then, Byakuya had thought Renji was weak, his pride – no, no, his arrogance, he had found his pride, he could call its placeholder what it was, in truth – his arrogance hadn't allowed him to admit he was impressed by Renji's strength and willful nature. He could take it into account, strategically, as when he'd entrusted Rukia's safety to him by allowing him to take her to Hueco Mundo, but he'd never acknowledged it to him outright. 

He'd assumed Renji was himself, who would take defeat as a personal offense and never rest until he'd figured out a way to turn the tables and prove himself better in the end. But he'd also assumed Renji knew exactly why he did things, that Renji could read his mind and his feelings and understand that he had not been himself, nor been thinking clearly, during that fight. Which, Byakuya conceded reluctantly, was terribly selfish of him. 

Besides, Renji was _Renji_. 

Renji probably thought the beatdown Byakuya had given him – and the corresponding cold shoulder, which had been needlessly cruel of him, Byakuya thought a tad somberly, as his grief and horror over Rukia's steadily increasing troubles had consumed him and his attention to the exclusion of everything else – was the blood to be paid for his mistakes and his weakness. And the fact Byakuya had never made himself clear about any of it, but instead allowed them to move on without broaching the subject probably reinforced the idea, considering how well they'd found their balance with each other afterward. He was mortified at the notion that his admittedly comfortable relationship with his lieutenant was rooted on such a basic misconception and the inside of his skull itched with frustration because he knew damn well it was his fault. 

Yoruichi is right, Byakuya thought, much as it pained him to admit it. I am an idiot. 

“Oh, very well,” he said, irritation plain on his voice, which was only exacerbated when Renji barely repressed a flinch at the tone. “I will make sure tonight's alcohol expenses are docked directly from your salary this month.” 

There, a fine for misbehavior. Simple, neat and above all, _civilized_. Byakuya stopped feeling pleased with his tidy solution to the conflict when Renji finally looked at him with wide, confused eyes. 

“What?” And then, after he processed the words: “You can't go _drinking_ , you're hurt!” 

Byakuya gave Renji an unamused stare. 

“If I wanted to be lectured on what I should or shouldn't do with myself in my condition,” he said, acidic, “I would go to my uncle, Renji.” 

“But–“ 

Byakuya turned away, as if only realizing how close he'd been standing to Renji. He feigned indifference. 

“I can hardly think of a more appropriate time for _strategic retreat_ , Abarai-fukutaicho.” 

He could feel the weight of Renji's stare on him, and he endured it until Renji's shoulders sagged at once and he let out a long sigh. 

“Fine,” Renji said, resigned, and shook his head a little. 

He was never going to understand Kuchiki Byakuya, it seemed. Every time he thought he'd figured things out and got a good hang of where they stood with each other, Byakuya went and changed the entire script. But, Renji supposed, as he trailed upstairs after him, that was part of what made being his lieutenant interesting. 

  


* * *

  


“I hate fighting with you,” Renji said, well into his fourth bottle of sake, entire body slumped forward on the table as he watched Byakuya refill his cup. 

“I have a novel and hitherto unheard of solution to your problem, then,” Byakuya muttered in that sullen tone he spoke in, when drunk. Renji thought it was kind of cute, even if nothing Byakuya ever said in that tone was remotely cute. Or personable. Or even polite. “ _Do not_.” 

Renji snorted, shaking his head as he buried his laugh into one arm. 

“Fuck that,” he laughed, looking sideways at his Captain. “It's my job to fight with you 'cause no one else is brave enough to.” 

“I am fairly certain Zaraki would disagree with that assessment,” Byakuya noted dryly, squinting at his own cup as he poured his drink. 

“Yeah, but Zaraki-taicho only wants to _fight you_ , I fight _with_ you.” 

“I am sure the difference is terribly meaningful,” Byakuya concluded after a moment of trying to decipher it, and instead took a long sip of his drink. “But I hardly see it at the moment.” 

“It's like,” Renji shifted, so he was holding his chin in one hand and the cup in the other, waving it about with the dexterity of someone who had enough practice to not spill it all over the place. “I wanna be as strong as you are. Hell, even stronger, if I can. But I don't wanna be stronger than you, because you're weaker than me. I want you to be the strongest you can be, because then I'm gonna be stronger too, if I finally kick your ass one day. And Zaraki-taicho–“ 

“When,” Byakuya interrupted, slowly turning the sake cup in his hand. 

“What?” Renji squinted as his train of thought was woefully derailed and lost into the depths of his alcohol-flooded mind, possibly never to be seen or heard again. 

“When, not if, you... defeat me,” Byakuya corrected him, and then shrugged – an actual, full-body shrug at that – when Renji stared at him. “I said I was going to train you for it and I intend to deliver. Or have you given up already, before we even begin?” 

Renji put down his cup and, made bold by the sake, reached a hand to grab Byakuya's wrist, stopping him from taking another sip. 

“Why _did_ you agree to train me?” He asked, serious and fierce, and yet somehow Byakuya failed as he always did, to find him intimidating. 

He'd never feared Renji, and he was fairly certain he never would. And in a strange way, Byakuya realized that Renji himself had never seemed afraid of him, either. They had cycled through disdain and scorn, in the beginning, all the way into a steady sort of mutual respect that nonetheless wobbled a little, every now and then. It wasn't arrogance, either, Byakuya noted, through the fog of alcohol slowly clouding his mind in the most pleasant way. He knew Renji could very well be intimidating. He had the mannerisms and the intensity required to pull it off. But he wasn't afraid of Renji purely because he was, objectively speaking, still stronger than him, no. He wasn't afraid of Renji because he was certain, on a visceral level he rarely considered because it went against everything he'd ever been taught and groomed for, that the day Renji tried to kill him, he would wholly and solely deserve it. 

Had already done so, after all. 

After his fight – fights, plural, though the second one had been little more than a glorified spar, all things considered – with Zaraki, Byakuya began to realize that at least some of his initial hostility to Renji, as the war with Aizen sparked into being, was fueled by the fact he'd genuinely not realized how much potential the redhead had. How taken by surprise he'd been, by his own lieutenant displaying his strength, when he'd not known it was there. He had been preoccupied with other things, at the time, nearly entirely consumed by his conflicting feelings over Rukia's impending execution and desperately trying to puzzle together a solution, and Renji's actions had been an unforeseen complication in an already deadly complicated situation. 

And they'd never really _talked_ about that fight. 

About what they'd said and what they'd done. About the look of sheer betrayal in Renji's face when he realized Byakuya was going to let Rukia die, after trusting him enough to follow his orders without question. About Byakuya taking out his frustration and impotent rage on Renji, when his unnoticed strength became apparent and Byakuya realized the full extent of his failure as a Captain. There were many, many ugly, gnarled things, twisted in the roots of their partnership, and Byakuya wasn't sure how they'd managed to let go of them enough to build a working relationship as good as they'd had, during the course of the war. 

It was probably the strain of a much powerful enemy forcing them to leave behind their personal disdains and concentrate on standing together. It certainly helped that with Rukia's execution dismissed entirely, the main catalyst of their mutual enmity vanished almost overnight. But now Aizen was defeated, Byakuya thought, sobering slightly. The looming threat had been eradicated and there was nothing to force them to work together like they had, before. And just as he admitted it was selfish, Byakuya owned up the fact he _liked_ having Renji as his lieutenant. Because Renji was a _good_ lieutenant. 

He made Byakuya want to be a good Captain, in return; something he'd never even worried about, before Renji. He'd always just assumed he _was_ a good Captain, because he did what he thought a Captain should do. And of course, no one had ever complained, before. Not until Renji came along and began asking questions and refusing to accept any answer Byakuya gave him on principle, just because Byakuya was the one giving it. Renji, who was unflinchingly fair and surprisingly insightful, whenever Byakuya actually listened to what he had to say. 

Renji, who Byakuya had beaten and humiliated out of misplaced rage and wounded pride, and who still refused to breathe a word about it, to anyone. 

Byakuya looked down at the hand holding his wrist and reached out to grab it with his own, holding it back as he took another sip from his cup with his other hand. 

“Because I _like_ fighting with you, Renji,” he said smirking, looking at Renji through half-lidded eyes. “You never fail to make it worth it.” 

Renji looked at the deceptively fragile-looking hand holding his own, with its thin, spidery fingers that made his own look rough and square and poorly put together. He tugged that hand closer, so he could leaned forward and press his forehead to it. The gesture was oddly submissive and in direct contrast of what came out of his mouth. 

“You're an asshole, Taicho,” Renji muttered, but Byakuya could see his mouth turning into a smirk. “Have I ever told you that before?” 

Byakuya found that, although the last bit of sober sanity he had left insisted he pulled his hand away immediately, he didn't want to. So he didn't. Instead he finished the last sip in his cup with a soft, sharp snort. 

“No,” he admitted, his eyelids refusing to raise past a certain point altogether, unknowingly giving his face an expression Renji would have called _sultry_ in anyone else, but that on him gave him a predatory air, almost warning-like. “But I imagine you have often thought it to yourself.” 

“Every damn day,” Renji snorted and finally let go of his hand so he could turn back to his own drink. “But hell, I think at this point I kinda like it anyway.” 

Byakuya found himself smirking wryly as he held his own wrist, fingering the ghost of Renji's hold on his skin unconsciously. 

“You're a very strange man, Renji,” he said, one eyebrow arched expressively. “Deranged, even. But, at this point,” he added, pointedly looking at Renji in the eye and amused at the steadily rising flush across his face, “I think I almost like it.” 

Renji roared a laugh in reply. Byakuya basked in the sound and resolved to make sure their bond as Captain and lieutenant had much sturdier roots. It didn't matter that he didn't know how to go about doing that, he was determined to see it through. 

He never once questioned why the thought of Renji unhappy about his place by his side was so unacceptable, though. It just _was_. 

  


* * *

  


There was a disadvantage traditional bedding had versus actual beds, Byakuya thought quietly, lest he upset his pounding headache, and it was that it had been physically impossible for Renji to roll into him, last time they'd passed out after drinking with determined enthusiasm like they had, the night before. 

He wasn't even angry, he noted, unconsciously matching his breathing to the whisper pressed against the back of his ear. His head was throbbing furiously enough that anger was much too complicated for the moment. He didn't _feel_ anything, except a sort of cynical review of the facts as they were presented to his abused senses. 

Namely the fact that his lieutenant, at some point after they stumbled back into the guestroom they'd been given in the Kurosaki home, had migrated from his bedding into Byakuya's. And was now holding onto him like he was a stuffed animal, which was frankly the most undignified way Byakuya had ever been held by anyone, ever. Renji's arm was heavy on his side and his breathing was a steady, tickling constant behind his ear and along his throat. 

And still, Byakuya was entirely too concerned with the effects of the vengeful hangover thrashing his senses, to really care about the awkward situation at hand. He knew he should probably remove himself from the scene and take advantage of the fact Renji could probably sleep through it without even noticing. Then no one would know anything awkward had happened at all, and Byakuya could go back to the daily riddle of trying to piece together his lieutenant, without adding another layer of complicated to their relationship. 

Renji chose precisely that moment to grunt in his sleep and curl further into his back, sort of burying his face into his hair. 

Byakuya stared at the wall and willed himself to move. 

He remained exactly where he was. 

At least until he felt a prickle of familiar reiatsu and adrenaline flooded his blood all at once. 

“D'awwwww, wish I'd brought the camera!” 

He didn't break down swearing like he very much wanted to, only because he wasn't a little child anymore. Of course, that only meant he'd learned not to act on his impulses, not that he'd ever gotten rid of them. Inside his head, Byakuya swore colorfully and eloquently, and the sudden spike of his reiatsu attested to it. 

“Shihouin Yoruichi,” Byakuya snarled, instantly stepping out of the bedding – and Renji's hold – and coming to stand by the window, where Yoruichi's cat form was perched, almost mockingly. 

He didn't care if his clothes were lopsided or his hair was mussed. Byakuya was only glad that when Renji drowsily rolled around awake, disturbed by the shift in Byakuya's spiritual pressure, Byakuya was considerably far away and so he wouldn't be able to guess what he'd done in his sleep. 

Partly because Byakuya was tired of Renji apologizing and being upset about things, but mostly because he still wasn't coherent enough to decide how he felt about the whole thing. 

He glared warningly at Yoruichi with a genuine promise of murder in his eyes, but it only made her laugh. 

“Kisuke's hosting a dinner party tonight,” she purred, golden eyes gleaming. “I'd advise you to attend, even if I'm sure there are other _things_ you'd much rather do.” 

Byakuya's arm snapped out to try and grab her, but Yoruichi leaped away from the window, cackling all the while. His wounds throbbed in protest, but at that point, they were literally the least of his worries. 

“Taicho?” 

Byakuya looked over his shoulder to find Renji, bared tattoos and loose hair, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room as he squinted at him. Byakuya reached a decision, between one heartbeat and the next. 

“I'm going back to sleep,” he informed Renji, walking purposefully back to his own bedding and summarily burying himself beneath the covers. 

They smelled like Renji. 

Byakuya added noticing that to the laundry list of things he was going to blame on the hangover, and summarily decided he was not going to think about anything, until noon at the very least. 

  


* * *

  



	9. Diplomacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji survives his first formal meeting with the Visored. Byakuya tries to keep his unruly thoughts to himself. And Unohana is terrifying, even when she's not there at all.

  


* * *

  


IX. Diplomacy 

  


* * *

  


“So, Abarai-fukutaicho, right?” 

Renji looked up at the source of the voice and tried really hard to pretend he wasn't desperate for anything to tear his attention away from the silent battle being waged between his Captain's icy glares and Yoruichi's smug smirks. The source of the voice, as it turned out, was the blond, apparently self-appointed leader of the Visored. It took Renji a moment for information to jolt back into his brain, but it filed into place properly and he remembered his name was Hirako Shinji and that a hundred years or so ago, he'd been Captain of the Fifth. 

He didn't look the part. 

In fact, Renji thought a little awkwardly, none of them did. 

Their expressions were guarded and reluctant, as if they had been talked into visiting against their will, or as if they expected something to go horribly wrong during the dinner. Well, the only thing that would go wrong, Renji hoped, was that his Captain was in an even sourer mood than usual, but he seemed to be aiming all his considerable scorn towards Yoruichi because... she'd asked him if he'd had a good night sleep? It was probably some kind of inside joke, Renji figured, only the kind that made someone murderously angry instead of being funny. But so long as that was the only source of conflict throughout the meal, Renji figured their mission wouldn't be so terrible. 

Maybe. 

Nonetheless, the group seated around the table was... mundane. They were a colorful bunch, alright, but the same could be said for the rank and file of the Eleventh. Their spiritual pressure was so low that Renji almost couldn't feel it, and he wondered if that was also a trait they'd developed, hiding from Soul Society. In human clothes, with expressions that went from bored to annoyed, Renji wouldn't have pegged them as former Captains and lieutenants at all. 

The Visored looked at him expectantly, and Renji reminded himself that he was there in full capacity as lieutenant of the Sixth, explicitly under Yamamoto-soutaicho's orders. He did his best to look the part, even though, for the first time in forever, he regretted his habit to forego his lieutenant badge. 

“Yes, Hirako-san?” He offered, hesitating only slightly on the right honorific. 

Former Captains and lieutenants, yes, but not yet reinstated. And Byakuya had impressed upon him the importance to not make assumptions, lest the Visored were left feeling like they had no choice in the matter. Renji had been somewhat surprised by the way Byakuya had worded that, as they prepared for the so called dinner party, but if anything he was at least determined to not be the one who fucked up their mission. 

“Well, what do you know, you're more polite than you look,” Shinji said, grinning that wide, creepy grin of his and then elbowed the muscular figure sitting on his left. “Pay up, Kensei.” 

Renji stared as the tall man scoffed and muttered under his breath but shifted about to pull a wallet out of his back pocket and pressed a handful of bills into Shinji's hand. 

Renji's left eyebrow twitched. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Had a little bet going,” Shinji said, counting the bills before stuffing them into the inside pocket of his jacket. “About you and your Captain, y'know? He looks like a stick in the mud, you gotta admit, and you look like a punk. But see, having met your esteemed Captain in his youth, I was damn sure the personalities did not match the looks. Easy money, that.” 

“Are you gonna lose that money if I punch you right now?” Renji blurted out, before he could help himself, glaring a little. 

“No–“ 

“I'll buy you a beer if you do,” the tiny blond girl sitting next to Shinji snapped, grinning wide enough to bare her fangs. “Hell, I ain't gonna be the only one.” 

There were chuckles and smirks from all around them, even as Shinji did his best to look offended. Well, Renji thought a little awkwardly, at least he hadn't completely botched up the mission yet. 

Yoruichi chose that precise moment to shunpo out of the room. Barely a second later, Byakuya was gone as well. 

“So!” Kisuke Urahara said, with all his loud and extremely grating cheer as he entered the room, “who's hungry?” 

Renji, for once, really wasn't. 

  


* * *

  


“Okay, just, truth on the table,” Renji said, sitting on the floor as he watched Byakuya slowly and fastidiously remove the kenseikan. “Should I be really fucking pissed that you walked out of dinner and left me to handle negotiations on my own, or should I be really goddamn pleased to know my Captain has that much faith in my abilities to handle something like that, on my first day on the job?” 

Byakuya looked at him over his shoulder, arching an eyebrow. 

“This was hardly your first day on the job, Renji.” 

Renji remembered his actual first day on the job. He remembered the fact he'd nearly driven himself sick with nerves, throwing around the best of his bravado to make sure his Captain wouldn't see right through it. He remembered trailing behind the 3rd seat like a lost duckling, trying to figure out the Sixth's filing system all at once. He remembered being genuinely concerned people thought he didn't know how to write, considering the slight narrowing of eyes that followed him everywhere, after he admitted he came from the Eleventh, even if he had been a seated officer there. 

He remembered closing the door to his new quarters and leaning against it, after a long, nerve-wrecking day that had been every bit as disappointing as it had been terrifying. And he remembered how he ripped the badge off his shoulder and snarled at himself that he was going to get so freaking _good_ at being a lieutenant, that people would know his rank without him having to announce it. 

He shrugged a little shudder, privately marveling how much he'd loathed the Sixth, the first day he'd become part of it, in contrast with how viciously possessive he felt about it, nowadays. 

“It kinda felt like it was, though,” Renji protested, scowling a little. “Like, this is my first real non Aizen's fuckery related mission, as lieutenant of the Sixth. Hell, it's my first diplomatic mission.” There was a small pause as Renji waited for Byakuya to meet his eyes. “ _Ever_.” 

And you bailed on me, he didn't add, though the look he gave Byakuya implied it pretty clearly. 

“Diplomacy,” Byakuya said, tone bland, “much like politics, is best learned by doing, rather than studying.” And then, because he did feel minutely guilty about leaving Renji to the wolves, metaphorically speaking, he added: “You did perfectly fine.” 

To be fair, Byakuya believed so purely because no one had been murdered and the Visored had, at the end of the evening, promised to deliver an answer to the offer in four days time, as opposed to flat out refusing outright. It was a fairly low threshold for victory, which was why he kept the terms of it to himself. Renji seemed upset enough, as it was, and Byakuya was well and truly tired of Renji being upset about something. 

Why did he care about it, Byakuya did not know, but he did. 

“They got drunk,” Renji deadpanned, unconvinced. “And I got propositioned. _Twice._ ” There was a slight widening to Byakuya's eyes at that. Renji nodded vigorously at him, when he saw it, mistaking it for doubt. “Three times,” he went on, halfway sulking, “if you consider the invite for a threesome to be a separate thing.” 

“And yet here you are,” Byakuya said tersely, though Renji found he couldn't really read his tone. 

“Well, I couldn't exactly accept, could I?” He retorted anyway, rolling his eyes. “Imagine writing the report for _that_.” 

Byakuya found himself slightly surprised at the pulse of irritation in his gut at the thought and all the obnoxiously crisp mental images that followed, but resolved to ignore it entirely as he settled down in his own bedding. 

“Imagine me having to read and approve that,” Byakuya muttered, somewhat snide. Renji made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, as if the thought had not occurred to him, and when Byakuya glanced in his direction, his face had gone a rather fetching shade of crimson. Feeling spitefully vindicated, Byakuya offered Renji a proverbial olive branch. “Though if it caused you so much distress, perhaps next time you would prefer to deal with Yoruichi yourself.” 

Renji actually contemplated the possibility for a moment, before he shuddered. 

“She's not... as bad... as she could be... I guess?” Renji winced then shook his head. Finally, he sighed loudly. “This mission is a _trainwreck_.” 

Byakuya made a small noise of agreement in the back of his throat as he settled down to sleep. Looking sideways, he found Renji lying on his side, head propped up on his hand, giving him a small, amused smirk. Trainwreck was a perfectly suitable descriptor for the mission they'd been entrusted with. And yet, Byakuya knew they could not fail it. There was nothing else, but make the most out of the situation and deliver the best results they could. 

“Be as it may,” he said, closing his eyes and firmly calling forth sleep, “we shall see it through regardless.” 

  


* * *

  


“The fussing is hardly necessary, Renji.” 

Byakuya stared at the wall as he spoke, pointedly ignoring Renji's hands as they wrapped fresh bandages around his torso. He wasn't sure why Renji insisted on participating in what was quickly becoming a very annoying morning ritual, but at least, Byakuya thought somewhat grumpily, it wasn't Isshin. Oh, if Isshin never had to fuss over his injuries ever again, he could die happy. 

“It's necessary because I'd rather not die,” Renji muttered, giving Byakuya a flat, unimpressed look, and showed him the blooded bandages he'd removed. When Byakuya merely stared at him, Renji sighed. “You have to get better, before we get home,” he told him, not meeting his eyes and sounding annoyed. “Or Unohana-taicho will tan my hide.” 

Byakuya scoffed softly, the sound full of disbelieving disdain, which only made Renji's face flush brightly. He ducked his head and tightened the bandages perhaps a little too hard for Byakuya's tastes. 

Of course Kuchiki Byakuya was not afraid of the Captain of the Fourth, Renji thought surly, because Kuchiki Byakuya was an _idiot_. The idiot he most respected and admired in the world, granted, but still an idiot. Everyone with two functional brain cells knew, and knew well, that it was preferable to pick a fight with the Captain Commander, than with the soft-spoken, always-smiling Captain of the Fourth. 

Hell, Kenpachi Zaraki, the most terrifying man Renji had ever met, submitted to her treatment and never once disagreed with her, in all the time Renji served in the Eleventh. He was downright courteous, which considering he viewed his duties as Captain to be mainly about bullying any poor fool in his Division and occasionally beating up punks with attitude problems out in the Rukongai, said quite a lot. 

Most people were so terrified of her that they didn't even dare speak ill of her, even when there was no possible way she could hear about it. 

But not Byakuya, of course not. 

“Truly, Renji...” He began, in that put upon tone of his that heralded a lecture. 

“You don't understand,” Renji interrupted, a little desperately. “She _told_ me to make sure you didn't do anything excessive, until you were fully recovered from Hueco Mundo.” 

“She might be under the misconception that you are my minder, then, as opposed to my lieutenant,” Byakuya pointed out dryly, failing to see what had Renji so agitated all of a sudden. He thought they'd finally straightened out the mess about his injuries, after all. He still had a lingering headache from that hangover, even two days later. “I am perfectly fine, regardless.” 

“You say that,” Renji muttered mutinously, picking up his supplies as he shuddered. “But that's only because she never does house calls at the Sixth. She does at the Eleventh.” 

“What a terrible thing,” Byakuya said, sarcasm crisp and clear in his tone, “a healer visiting those in most need of healing.” 

Renji looked genuinely terrified, though, as he shook his head vigorously. That gave Byakuya pause. He had a feeling there was a story, to his lieutenant's panic, and he found himself insatiably curious about it all of a sudden. The feeling was new, and Byakuya wasn't entirely sure he approved of it. He'd never really cared much for Renji's past, before he joined the Sixth. He knew bits and pieces, things he shared willingly or well-known bits of gossip that invariably found their ways to him, during Captain meetings. 

But he'd never been curious enough to wonder about Renji's personal history before. Frankly, he'd never really cared. Renji was good at his job and Byakuya was content to have him at his side, so there was really nothing else to worry about. He wasn't a friend, after all, he was his lieutenant. A subordinate. Their relationship was coded neatly within the structure of the Gotei 13 and that meant that clan rules and social mores couldn't touch it. Byakuya was not required to know the full extent of Renji's life story, and he'd never had any inclination to dig into it before. 

After all, Byakuya was the Head of the most powerful among the Four Noble families, he couldn't socialize with just anyone, without infringing on those infuriatingly complex political structures that were meant to give order to the world and keep down those who were already below him. And as he'd heard the whispers many times – though he'd never found their source – look at what had happened, last time he'd socialized outside his rank: Hisana and all the terrible, wondrous things she had wrought upon his House. 

But with Renji, it was different. Because Renji was a shinigami, and much to the chagrin of more than one elderly relative, so was Byakuya. And among shinigami, all that truly mattered was strength and loyalty, both of which Renji had in spades. So it had never mattered, before, what his lieutenant had been, before he came to serve under him. Byakuya knew about his affiliation with the Eleventh because it had been his previous assignment, and he had held it against it him, at least in theory, because there were few things Byakuya despised in theory so much, as he did the lawlessness of the Eleventh and their ruthless, utterly frustrating Captain. 

Renji had just appeared, one day, in his awareness. Appointed as his lieutenant by Zaraki's recommendation – which Byakuya had taken as a slight, of course, but was starting to grudgingly admit might have been a favor instead – and trying so very hard to make up for all he lacked that Byakuya could no longer remember never not having. He would have never been allowed within a million miles of Renji, had they not been shinigami. But beyond being tangently aware of that fact, Byakuya had never really thought about it. Where Renji came from, or what he'd lived through, to become the sort of man who would walk proudly behind him and occasionally snark at him when the mood was right. 

Now he did, and he was admittedly at loss as to what do with that curiosity. 

He wondered what Renji had been like, joining the Gotei 13. What he kind of person he'd been, before the strangely controlled spiral of chaos that were the various Divisions and their often overwhelming hierarchy changed him. If they had changed him, at all. 

Byakuya remembered, distantly, how excited he had been, the first time he'd joined the Sixth under his grandfather's command. Unseated, despite what everyone had expected, because Kuchiki Ginrei was not a man to give away anything that wasn't earned, not even to his heir. How willing he'd been, in those days, to prove himself for his own strength and give his name pride by his own hand. The Kuchiki name would be great, because Byakuya himself was great, not the other way around. Or so he'd thought, at least. He'd been a rather insufferable child, when he was younger. Naive, in his own way, what with his determination to follow his father and his grandfather in their careers as members of the Gotei 13, rather than focus solely on upholding the glory of the Kuchiki clan. He'd made enemies, over that, and not realized it until it was too late. 

He'd made close approximations to friends, as well, among his fellow shinigami. People who'd proclaimed themselves his friends, at any rate, and whom Byakuya tolerated despite their lack of rank in polite society, because a tiny rebellious bit of his soul still enjoyed challenging the complex web of rules and regulations that somehow kept from collapsing under its own weight. The Gotei 13 had changed him, as much as becoming head of the clan had. As much as loving Hisana and finding Rukia had. 

It stood to reason Renji had been changed by it, as well, and his sudden whim to find out exactly how and why it had, mystified him a little. 

“It's an insult to her character,” Byakuya said instead, watching Renji's face carefully for his reaction, as he tried to put the topic to rest and perhaps allow himself some respite from his own strange thoughts, “to insinuate she would retaliate violently. Unohana-taicho is very powerful, I will grant you, but she is also very committed to pacifist solutions.” 

Renji stared at him for a moment, before he walked over to where Byakuya was still sitting on the examination table – he wasn't sure why he hadn't moved already, possibly because he'd gotten lost in his own thoughts – and placed a hand on each of his shoulders. Renji's hands were calloused and big and strong, and as he leaned in to stare at him in the eye, Byakuya felt a strange thrill, for reasons he wasn't quite sure he could articulate. 

“Unohana Retsu is not a pacifist by choice, believe you _me_ ,” Renji insisted, voice dropping into a serious, almost hissing intensity. “She is a pacifist because Soul Society realized, as a whole, that it would be best to not give her reason to burn everything to the ground. Seriously, Taicho, I've seen her stop smiling.” Renji let go of him and shuddered again. “I'm still not sure how I survived it.” 

This time, Byakuya couldn't resist it blurting out the tactless question, despite his best intentions to keep his curiosity to himself. 

“What on earth did you _do_?” 

Renji winced. 

“I fell off a really, really high roof and broke half of _everything_ ,” he confessed, flinching a bit at the memory. Byakuya stared at him, disturbed by how easily the memory of Renji bloodied and torn at his feet came to him. “Because I was drunk and stupid and freshly inked, and Ikkaku thought it'd be _hysterical_ to dare the rookie to do handstands in places one really _shouldn't_.” 

“ _Renji_ ,” Byakuya groaned quietly, unable to keep the chiding tone off his voice. 

He closed his eyes against the mental image that he could envision all too well. 

“I know, _I know_ ,” Renji shook his head. “Not my brightest moment.” He shuddered again. “Unohana-taicho was pissed, though. Like. Really, really _pissed_. She wasn't even pissed at me, I don't think. I mean, she probably was, because it was my fault for being dumb and doing stupid things, but she gave Ikkaku the most epic tongue lashing ever.” Renji dropped his voice to a hushed, half awed, half cowed whisper as he picked up Byakuya's discarded clothes and offered them to him. “And her spirit pressure, Taicho. _Her spirit pressure put Zaraki-taicho's to shame._ ” 

Byakuya took his clothes without really thinking about it, and began putting them on as Renji stared at him, waiting for something. As he shrugged on the haori and reached out to grab the precious silken scarf from Renji's hands, he was assaulted all of a sudden by the memory of watching the sheer fabric flutter down on Renji's broken body. He still wasn't sure why he'd done that, or how he'd felt about having the scarf returned without words. That was something Byakuya was starting to realize, how little he and Renji truly talked about things fundamentally important. With his newfound conviction to make sure their relationship as Captain and lieutenant was strong and stable, Byakuya wondered if that was a good place to start. 

After all, they weren't _friends._

The thought should have been comforting, particularly after all his recent mental meandering and his factual certainty that he was terrible at keeping friends, but it annoyed him, instead. 

“Nonetheless, you have nothing to fear,” Byakuya said, allowing himself an almost teasing smirk, “I fail to see how I could not get better, under such sincere concern and devout care.” 

Renji snorted but, wisely, kept the retort to himself. 

  


* * *

  


The moment Unohana Retsu set a foot on the street leading to the Eleventh, someone yelled the alarm. 

By the time she crossed the tall gate into their barracks, the entirety of the Division had gathered there, forming two flanking lines that bowed in unison as she passed by. 

“Good day and welcome, Unohana-taicho!” Was the chorus that greeted her and her lieutenant, a tiny shade of fear mingled among their voices. 

Isane, walking after her Captain, was summarily ignored. She was always mildly amused, though more often than not just frustrated, by the way the Eleventh related to the Fourth. Members of the Eleventh were well-known to bully and disdain members of the Fourth for their lack of fighting ability. Yet somehow those very same people would often act downright servile while in the presence of her Captain. Isane wasn't sure _their_ Captain was treated with as much pomp and blunt respect. 

“Oi, Unohana-taicho,” said Captain boomed from where he was half sitting, half sprawling on the steps leading to the main complex of the barracks. “Bit early this month, ain't you?” 

“Zaraki-taicho,” Unohana said, smiling as she came to stop a few feet away from him. “Perhaps. I heard one of your patrols had an unfortunate encounter with some Arrancar.” 

From up close, Isane fought to not sway under the weight of Zaraki's spiritual pressure, even bound and as close to subdued as he could get. She noted, as always, that her Captain didn't seem to notice it in the slightest. 

“Stay for lunch,” Zaraki offered, even though the wording should have made it sound like an order. Isane marveled that no one except the Captain Commander ever even attempted to order her Captain around. “After you're done.” His eye found Isane's, and glinted with something she couldn't name. “Your lieutenant, too.” 

“How very gracious of you, Zaraki-taicho,” Unohana replied, closing her eyes as she smiled. “We will be more than happy to oblige.” 

Isane wasn't entirely sure about that, per se, but if there was one thing she knew for certain was that the best course of action was always as her Captain said. 

If only because at least then she wouldn't have to repeat herself. 

  


* * *

  



	10. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuya comes to a not-quite-startling realization about Renji and his feelings for him. Renji thinks he's going to die. Hiyori also thinks she's going to die. Shinji disapproves, emphatically.

  


* * *

  


X. Goodbye. 

  


* * *

  


“No.” 

Byakuya looked up and found Renji giving him a flat stare, mouth twisted into a scowl. 

Renji happened to be carrying exactly fourteen boxes and three over sized bags, and though the weight was hardly an issue, it was cumbersome to move around. Also, people were staring at him. More so than usual, anyway. 

Byakuya leaned back, away from a particularly cuddly-looking plush toy and arched an eyebrow inquisitively. 

“Nu-huh,” Renji insisted, “I think you've bought enough to get the point across, Taicho.” 

“The point?” Byakuya asked, inwardly amused as Renji huffed and stepped closer, carefully balancing the boxes in his arms. 

“That you like your cousins,” the redhead retorted, rolling his eyes. 

“It is customary to offer gifts in return for hospitality,” Byakuya replied, with the air of someone explaining something obvious. “I've further inconvenienced our hosts with my injury, so that must be taken into account.” 

Renji remained unamused. 

“There's buying gifts,” he said, arching both eyebrows, “and there's spoiling your cousins silly. Which, don't get me wrong, it's pretty nice of you, Taicho. But there's no need to go overboard.” When Byakuya narrowed his eyes and looked like he might argue the point, Renji went on, giving him a knowing look. “It's not like you'll never see them again, y'know?” 

“Don't be ridiculous,” Byakuya muttered, allowing his face to fall into a familiar blank expression that Renji was surprised to realize, didn't quite terrify him as much as it probably should. “I'm well aware of that.” 

As Byakuya began walking briskly down the street, Renji marveled at the twin realizations that he'd managed to embarrass his Captain, and that he'd somehow survived doing so. Unable to keep the grin off his face, he trailed after Byakuya, no longer caring if people stopped and stared at the pair of them. 

  


* * *

  


“We can tell them to wait longer, y'know. We're not in a hurry here.” 

A sandal flew and smacked Shinji square in the chest. It was quite the puny blow, however, and that only made his expression grimmer. 

“Fuck _off_ ,” Hiyori snarled, glowering at him as she slid on a shirt on. “The sooner we're done with this crap, the better.” When Shinji's face remained the same, she bared her teeth at him. “Stop babying me around, I'm not some fucking doll made of glass that'll just break the moment you take your eyes off me, dammit!” 

She was paler than usual, but she powered through it with sheer personality, as always. He stared at her for a moment, taking in the sight of her, angry and bursting at the seams with it, just like usual, and for one eternal moment, he just remembered she was fine. Would be fine, really, as soon as she stopped trying to _be_ fine already, and let herself heal properly. But it was alright. Honest. She was breathing and her heart was beating and she was _whole_. 

Shinji walked over to sit on the edge of her bed, ignoring the way she eyed him warily, and then summarily reached out and pulled her into a hug. 

“ _He cut you in half_ ,” he hissed, closing his eyes and pretending that made the mental image go away. “Excuse me if I'm concerned about the fact someone fucking cut you in half, _less than three weeks ago_.” 

Hiyori snorted in annoyance, but didn't push him off, resting her forehead on his shoulder. 

“Yeah, but I ain't dead yet,” she said, tone low. “And that makes them feel entitled to drag us back into their bullshit.” 

Though he had expected it, he was still a little taken aback by the sheer viciousness in her voice. Hiyori had been angry, first, after they escaped Soul Society. They were all angry, afterwards, but Hiyori had been the only one whose first reaction had been anger. Everyone else had despaired, first. Even Shinji. Everyone else had friends and family and lovers who had been torn away from them, and for those they'd left behind, they had grieved. 

But not Hiyori. 

Hiyori had left nothing, felt she had lost nothing, for the sake of nothing. And Hiyori had raged. She had screamed and unraveled into violence with an ease that had been frightening. And then she hadn't... stopped. Shinji had spent decade after decade watching her go on, powered by that anger and expecting it to run out eventually, but it never did. She was as furious the day they walked out to face Aizen, as she'd been after she'd subdued her inner hollow and regained consciousness. She was vicious and unrelenting, and out of all of them, she was the only one who'd never expressed even the tiniest hint that she wanted to go back to Soul Society. 

Even Lisa – who Shinji sometimes thought had been carved out of ice, she could be so cold – would allow herself to reminisce about her life before Aizen and the mask, and her voice would sound exasperatedly fond, when she spoke of the Captain she'd served, then. 

Shinji tried to remember the last time he'd seen Hiyori laugh and mean it, and felt like an absolute failure when he couldn't. 

“Would it be so bad?” Shinji asked, pulling back to look at her in the eye. “To go home? After all the shit we've been through and now that Aizen's been dealt with?” 

“ _What_ home?” Hiyori snapped back, baring her teeth at him. “You mean the home that gave up on us and would've sooner seen us dead than help? You mean the home that only wants us back because we'd be useful?” She shoved him off. Well, she tried anyway, it was more the intention than the force behind the movement, but she refused to give in to the sincere look on his face. “Fuck Soul Society, Shinji. And fuck the Gotei 13. The only reason I'm going back with you is because I want to have the pleasure of telling Yamamoto that to his ugly, wrinkled _face_.” When he didn't say anything, she looked away. “You can go back, if you want. I know you do. You could never resist the urge to be a self-sacrificing dolt. But I'm done with them, and if the only way to make sure they're done with me is letting them kill me? They can fucking bring it on.” 

Something changed, in Shinji's face. Something feral and vicious that reminded Hiyori, all of a sudden, that Hirako Shinji was not be trifled with, when it really mattered. His face went slack and his eyes looked flat and emotionless, as his reiatsu shifted and spiked both as a warning and a threat. 

“They'll never kill you,” he whispered, and meant, I'll never let them. 

This was the Shinji, Hiyori remembered, that the Visored had always followed. Not because he was the strongest or the smartest. But because he was the fiercest only when it came to protecting them. Because Kensei talked big and Hachi said nothing and Love was ruthless and Rose was kind and Mashiro was beastly and Lisa was unstoppable, but they weren't cunning and sly and singlemindedly determined to keep them all safe. None of them knew how to make promises that sounded like vows and then commit beyond self-destruction to keep them. 

Shinji did. 

Shinji kept them safe. Shinji helped them train. Shinji made them stronger and better, even at the cost of himself. Shinji had taught them how to navigate the Human world and make the best out of the worst of their situation. Shinji said _let's go_ , and they followed, because it wasn't an order, just another promise he would always keep. 

“They must be pretty desperate,” Hiyori said, refusing to acknowledge yet another promise, and smirking until Shinji's expression became less intense. “I mean, if they'll settle for you lot as Captains again.” 

Shinji glared a little, but then he smirked. 

“I dunno, Kisuke said Mayuri's a Captain now,” he said, snickering as Hiyori twitched. “So standards must be pretty low.” 

“You'll fit right in, then,” she snarked back, and made to shove him off the bed. 

Shinji laughed, but even then, there was some nervousness in the sound. Hiyori was feeling generous enough she didn't mention it. 

  


* * *

  


On their last morning in the Human world, Byakuya woke up, yet again, with Renji curled around him, one arm thrown around his waist. His head wasn't throbbing, however, as last time he'd found himself in such a compromising position. But that was only because rather than go out, the night before, Isshin had indulged them in the living room, and as such, Byakuya had not allowed himself to drink nearly as much as his uncle and Renji had. 

So it was with a clear head, and no excuses for his own behavior, that Byakuya found himself in his lieutenant's arms, and he had to confront the fact that he did not want to leave them. It wasn't just alcohol and poor impulse control, it seemed, and he acknowledged his own excuses for his actions had been thin and not very convincing on the whole. Forced to face his own unruly desires without a convenient scapegoat at hand, he took one last moment to search his soul for the indignation and fury and absolute outrage that should be pooling in it somewhere, but as expected, not a single trace of it could be found. 

Ah, Byakuya thought, lying very, very still as he stared at the wall. Well then. 

It wasn't, after all, a wholly foreign concept. Renji was certainly attractive in his own way, and Byakuya knew well he'd found him increasingly distracting as of late, particularly after his fight with Zaraki and the end of the war. There had been something there, in Renji's eyes, as he stared at him as the dust settled, literally, and he walked out of it with Zaraki at his side. Something had changed in the way his lieutenant saw him, ever since, and in return it changed the way Byakuya became acutely aware of Renji, at all times. Again, it wasn't an entirely far-fetched concept in itself, the slow, tortuous realization that he enjoyed Renji's hands on him in a far less platonic way than he'd originally intended. He'd convinced himself, between acknowledging the man fully as his lieutenant and committing to that acknowledgment, that he wanted Renji to truly stand on equal ground with him. But not, Byakuya realized with a twinge of frustration, for purely selfless reasons. 

Because he knew what he wanted, and now that he no longer had a chance to pretend he couldn't see it, he knew damn well it would be a terrible idea. It was weakness, pure and simple. Kurosaki Ichigo might have been the first person who'd broken through Byakuya's sword and forced him to reconsider what he now knew was a spiral of self-destruction he'd committed to, but Renji was the one who'd stayed and pushed and dug through wall upon wall of forced indifference and familiar numbness until he'd made himself so at home in Byakuya's conception of the world, that the thought of his lieutenant not being there was maddening. He liked having Renji around. Because he was loyal and strong and delightfully amusing in private ways Byakuya refused to speak of to anyone. But mostly because he was _Renji_. And that was exactly where he belonged, as far as Byakuya was concerned. 

He was a practical man, when he applied himself to it. When the payout would be worth it. He knew what he wanted, and it wasn't that terribly hard to imagine he could get it. But the issue was, at the core, what it would cost him. Byakuya was not young and naive and ignorant of the way the world worked. When he'd married Hisana, half because he'd truly and sincerely loved her, and half because he refused to believe there was something he _couldn't_ do, he hadn't realized the cost of it, until much later. He should have seen it, should have acted and planned and worked to minimize it, but he hadn't and the consequences left their mark for decades afterwards. 

Renji was a commoner. Renji was a man. Renji was his _subordinate_. 

And Byakuya was not stupid, not really. He wanted his relationship with his lieutenant to be strong and durable, until a time Renji was fit to stand as a fellow Captain on his own. But he also realized his new found wanting for his lieutenant to be exponentially less decorous as the minutes dragged on and the soft whisper of Renji's breath against his ear became the single most terrible torment he'd ever endured. Fifty years ago, before Rukia and Hisana and the white haori on his shoulders, Byakuya would have given in to his desires without a second thought. 

Fifty years ago, Byakuya had been a fool. 

But not anymore, Yoruichi's taunting notwithstanding. 

No, he would... wait. Plan. Weight the consequences and find the right loopholes, and if he could get away with it, he would do so without the heartbreak. Assuming Renji was interested, anyway. Byakuya's left eyebrow twitched in annoyance at himself, for taking it for granted. He was still only halfway convinced Renji didn't hate him, as he claimed so loudly and often, if only because Byakuya knew he would, in Renji's shoes. And if Renji was not interested – which was a possibility and Byakuya would take it into account as any other, because he wasn't a fool, really – then he would make sure their partnership as leaders of the Sixth remained untarnished. And he would be content to see Renji raise to his full potential, like he'd promised. 

Byakuya told himself – that tiny voice in the back of his mind that was cynical and shrewd and sounded suspiciously like a certain cat monster he wouldn't name – that his careful examination of his own feelings and desires was not an excuse to remain in the warmth of Renji's arms. That would be ludicrous and foolish, and _Byakuya was not a fool_. 

“T-Taicho?” 

Byakuya's eyes snapped open and he looked sideways and up, to find Renji staring at him wide-eyed. His face was flushed bright scarlet, expression something between panic and shock. Byakuya cursed inside his mind, freezing his expression without a second thought and then realizing that was probably the least effective thing he could have done, when Renji tried to scramble off his back. Byakuya cursed at himself, again, when one of his hands reached out to grab Renji's wrist on reflex, as if to keep it where it'd been, thrown comfortably over his side. 

It got worse, somehow. 

Renji took the almost hold like an attack and defended himself rather clumsily. But a defense nonetheless, that Byakuya's instincts took for something worth retaliating for. The end result was them rolling in an undignified heap on the ground, fiercely defending from each other's defense, until Byakuya pinned Renji to the ground, halfway sitting astride his hips. There was a moment of awkward silence barely broken by panicked panting as Renji, face still completely flushed, went slack under Byakuya, seemingly shrinking in size. 

Byakuya sighed, dropping his head a little and allowing his hair, loose and somewhat mussed from the impromptu quasi-spar, to hang down until its tips were tickling Renji's chest. Renji felt himself, somehow, managing to blush harder at that. 

“Tai–“ 

“Later, Renji,” Byakuya said, not looking up and sounding extremely tired and not at all happy. “We have a very long, very trying day ahead of us, to finish a very trying mission. So perhaps we can leave this... discussion for later.” 

Renji licked his lips the exact moment Byakuya looked up. 

“...I just want to know if you're gonna murder me,” the redhead said, trying his very best not to move at all, not quite sure what to do with the solid weight of his Captain bearing down on him like that. 

Byakuya was silent for a moment that felt like a small, terrifying eternity to Renji, before he released his grip on his lieutenant's wrists. Very gracefully – so very gracefully that Renji was struck by how fucking unfair it was that he could move that way – Byakuya shifted his weight from his knees to his feet and stood up above Renji, one foot at each side of his waist. He pulled the yukata back in place, brushing invisible lint off the fabric with a nonchalant air that Renji envied like nothing else, considering his cheeks felt hot enough to melt metal. 

“Not today,” Byakuya said, as he stepped back and away from Renji and the tantalizing image he presented, sprawled on the ground like that, further shuffling his clothes back in place as if he could do the same with his own traitorous thoughts. “At the very least.” When Renji sat up, his hakama halfway down his hips and his tattoos shifting with his every move, Byakuya added, in a far more wary tone. “ _Later_ , Renji.” 

Then he vanished, before Renji could get another word in. 

  


* * *

  


“Nii-sama.” 

Byakuya looked up to find Rukia smiling at him. If she was surprised to see him not only out of uniform, but with his hair free of the kenseikan, she said nothing. Instead she went to stand by his side and watch the morning light slowly cover the town, leaning on the railing along the edge of the roof. 

“Rukia,” he acknowledged after a moment of trying to find something better to say. 

“Renji's worried about you,” she said, without preamble, and it was only decades of careful self-control that kept Byakuya from actually flinching. “He thinks he's offended you, somehow, and he's not sure how to apologize without making it worse.” She smiled at him, looking sideways with an almost conspiratorial air that made Byakuya's lungs stop working for a moment, because he recognized the gesture as the kind that preluded an inside joke between Karin and Yuzu. It was sibling-like, and it terrified him, how much he was moved by such a small thing. “I told him to stop being self-important. If you were upset with him, you would let him know exactly why. It's the kind of man you are, after all.” 

For one infinitely long moment, Byakuya said nothing. And then, very slowly, very deliberately, as if moving too fast or giving in to quickly would snap his spine under its own weight, he leaned on the railing as well. 

“I'm not... upset, exactly,” Byakuya admitted, careful to keep his eyes on the skyline, lest he had to confront whatever expression settled in Rukia's face. “Though I am starting to believe Renji might find a way to work himself up about it, regardless of what I say.” 

Byakuya swallowed back a ball of frustration and wondered if he could just pretend the entire morning and its annoying revelations had never happened at all. If he could just go back to acknowledging Renji's strength and willingness to become an equal and stop there, forever, so his own weakness wouldn't poison their partnership or at least that he would not be caught by surprise again. 

“I'm very happy that you're getting along now,” Rukia said after a moment, offering Byakuya small smile. “He told me you agreed to train him.” 

“I did,” he replied, grateful for the swift and poignant topic change. “I've come to realize that not encouraging Renji's potential would be a failure as a Captain, on my part.” 

“You'll enjoy it, I think,” Rukia chuckled, “few things are as fun as fighting Renji. With swords or with words, it's always the same. He gives it his all, and he makes you want to try just as hard.” 

“Yes,” Byakuya admitted, halfway relieved it wasn't just him that felt that way. “He does.” 

They stood in silence for a while longer, watching the sunlight bounce off the glass walls of various buildings and slowly warm up their skin. Byakuya tried to remember the last time he'd allowed himself to simply wallow in the warmth of sunrise, and found himself a lot less... mortified by his own outburst and his lack of proper dress, than he felt he should be. It was comfortable silence, though. The kind that was companionable without presuming too much or too little. And he realized this was the first time he'd felt this way, in Rukia's presence. Leaving aside the issue currently running in panicked circles in the depths of his mind, Byakuya marveled how things had changed between them, over the course of the war. 

Perhaps, once he had sorted out the situation with Renji, he could focus on making sure this kind of moment became more common, between him and his sister. 

But first, he needed to sort out the situation with Renji. 

He was not looking forward to that, in the slightest. 

“We should head back,” Byakuya said, resisting the urge to sigh with bone-deep wariness. “I must prepare for the trip home.” 

Rukia's expression shifted, just a little, before she nodded. Byakuya allowed her the silence, rather than voice the thoughts that circled back to the boy still lying unconscious under the Kurosaki roof. 

  


* * *

  


The trip home was oddly anticlimactic. 

The Visored were waiting for them, at Urahara Shoten. Urahara and Yoruichi waved them off obnoxiously. Byakuya ordered Renji to open the senkaimon. And then there was walking along the dark corridor, lit only by the hell butterflies and the flapping of their wings to break the awkward silence. 

Renji was mostly grateful for the awkward silence, in a way, because if everyone was buried under it, then no one would notice where the awkward silence came from. Or indeed, that there were two massively sprawling awkward silences overlapping each other at the moment. One, because the company and their mission and the fact the Visored didn't seem all that... pleased to be heading back to Soul Society, even if they had chosen to. 

And the other, because Renji had apparently molested his Captain in his sleep and his Captain hadn't somehow decided to eviscerate him for it yet. 

Yet. 

The yet was going to kill him, before Byakuya himself did, he was sure. 

Renji closed the line as they walked towards the doorway, while Byakuya led at the head. He hadn't been told to, but he didn't feel like walking close behind his Captain as usual, not after that morning's mishap. It would be over soon enough, and no amount of distance be tried desperately to shove between them was going to help him survive his Captain's fury. Because it had to be fury, of course. Renji had spent the entire day quietly freaking out in the privacy of his own mind, trying very hard to not let it show on his face, lest someone asked. Because he knew damn well he was not going to be able to keep his mouth shut otherwise. 

Renji was too focused on his impending demise via Senbonzakura's sharp edge, to even stop and consider how he actually felt about the actual situation. He had priorities, after all. He'd worry about what it meant and why he'd done such a stupid thing, until after he was sure he was going to live long enough for it to be relevant. 

Up ahead, Byakuya commanded the doorway open and stepped into the courtyard, allowing light to shine bright into the dark tunnel. The Visored followed him almost sedately, not particularly hurrying along. Renji watched Rose and Love cross the threshold and realized Shinji had stayed behind. He turned around to find the blond standing a couple dozen feet back, staring at a wall with a frown on his face. 

“You okay, Hirako-san?” Renji ventured, tracing back his steps and feeling eminently stupid for not having noticed in the first place. “We're–“ 

“Something's wrong,” Shinji observed, eyes narrowed before he turned his glare on Renji, as if trying to assess his involvement on whatever had his teeth on edge. 

“What do you me–“ 

Renji let out a yelp of surprise as the ground disappeared beneath his feet. He had a split second to react, as Shinji grabbed his shoulder and dragged him along as they started running towards the doorway. When Shinji stumbled, the ground falling beneath his feet but sticking to them and somehow sucking him down, Renji grabbed his arm and tried to drag him up as he struggled to escape the sudden death trap. 

“Shinji!” 

Hiyori screamed the loudest as she saw the tunnel collapse all around them, but before she could do more, Byakuya had launched himself back towards the doorway, pushing his speed to reach his lieutenant. 

“ _Renji_ ,” Byakuya said, with an imperious tone as he leaned in to grab Renji's hand with his own. 

Renji stretched his arm up, realizing he was falling and feeling stupidly amused that even at such a moment, his Captain would order him around. When his fingers brushed by but ultimately missed Byakuya's entirely, Renji wondered if he was going to get yelled at for disobeying orders. 

Byakuya's eyes widened as he watched Renji and the blond Visored swallowed up by the endless darkness all around them as they fell, but when he tried to push forward, he found a strong arm around his waist pulling him up and out of the crumbling passage. 

“The fuck do you think you're doing, you idiot?” Kensei snarled at him as he let him go with a shove. “Saving two people is going to be hard enough, we don't need a third!” 

Byakuya opened his mouth to retaliate, his reiatsu flaring as his anger solidified in the pit of his stomach, but a familiar, grating chuckle stopped him in his tracks. 

“My, oh my,” Kurotsuchi Mayuri mused, as he strolled towards them at a leisure pace, “you really do know how to make an entrance, do you not, Kuchiki Byakuya?” 

Byakuya thought of Renji swallowed up by the dark void and said nothing at all. 

  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...well. I did say there was a plot hidden in there somewhere, didn't I?


	11. Worlds Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji and Shinji go on a bit of an adventure. Byakuya copes, badly.

  


* * *

  


XI. Worlds Apart. 

  


* * *

  


There was a long, tense silence, as Mayuri approached the group by the senkaimon's still open doors, grin wide and firmly placed on his face. Byakuya was seething with sheer fury, his reiatsu threatening to spill over not unlike Zaraki's always did. Mayuri would have despaired for the Gotei 13, given the quality of some of his fellow Captains, but he would have needed to _care_ about the Gotei 13 for that. 

“ _ **You.**_ ” 

And then Hiyori broke into a dead run, straight for him, and Mayuri had a terrible moment of déjà vu, before she launched herself into the air, just a few feet away, and landed square on his face with as much momentum as she could. The kick was strong enough that if Mayuri were anyone else but himself, his spine might have been broken. Instead he tilted his body back, trying to absorb as much of the force as he could, but nonetheless ended up flatted on the ground in a rather undignified way. 

Byakuya stared at the display for a long moment, before he decided he was going to do something really _nice_ for the small Visored girl, as soon as this increasingly frustrating mess was sorted out. 

“Hiyori,” Mayuri said, staring straight at the sky, powering through the throbbing of his skull by sheer force of deadpan. “How utterly predictable.” 

He rolled back to his feet with an awkward sort of grace, seemingly not worse for wear as he patted off dust from his clothes. 

“You want predictable?” Hiyori snarled at him, all but vibrating with anger as she pointed an accusing finger at him. “Things go to shit and then _you_ turn up!” 

Mayuri made a face at the sky, shrugging. 

“It would be far more accurate to say that I tend to find myself in a position to clean up a mess you made,” he replied, and when she looked like she wanted to launch herself at him again, he placed a hand on her head, as if to hold her there. Byakuya remembered, all of a sudden, that she was the former lieutenant of the Twelfth, while he had served as her 3rd seat: a happy family united under the madness that was Urahara Kisuke. Byakuya resisted the urge to shudder on reflex. “This a terrible habit I'd have expected you to break out of already, _child_.” 

Hiyori's reiatsu flared. 

“Who are you calling child, you creepy, freak-faced sideshow!” 

Mayuri's own reiatsu held steady, as he leaned in to sneer at her. 

“Well, I certainly can't call you _lieutenant_ now, can I?” 

Hiyori's temper snapped so sharply it was near audible. Byakuya found himself increasingly frustrated by their distraction, and when they released their shikai, he stepped between them. He blocked Hiyori's zanpakuto with his own, and held Mayuri's wrist in one hand, looking exasperated. 

“If we could, _perhaps_ ,” he said, voice dangerously deadpan, “focus on the matter at hand?” 

Mayuri rolled his eyes, and it only got worse from there. 

  


* * *

  


“So,” Renji said, standing on a foothold made out of sheer reishi, as the storm inside the Garganta howled furiously all around them. “That happened.” 

“And it happened with gusto,” Shinji agreed, surveying their surroundings carefully. 

Though granted, there wasn't much to see, beyond the screaming storm made out of said sheer reishi and the taunting, bottomless pit beneath the hastily put together footing they were currently holding in place through pure adrenaline-fueled will. 

“Yeah...” Renji went on, resisting the urge to scratch the itch at the base of his neck. “I don't suppose you know how to get out of here?” 

Shinji snorted. 

“I have a theory?” He offered, then shrugged. “But it's not very sound and it'll probably get us killed. Then again, literally everything else will _certainly_ get us killed.” 

Renji took a moment to study the man, eyes narrowed cautiously. There was something very, very off about Hirako Shinji, but decades serving Zaraki Kenpachi had taught Renji that not everything that was off was necessarily _wrong_. It just meant his instincts were good enough to pick up anything out of the ordinary, and that was a valuable talent. He wasn't sure just yet, if he liked the man or not, but he wouldn't mind, if he did. 

“I'm all up for probably as opposed to certainly,” Renji replied, arching both eyebrows and offered a thin, awkward smile. “Definitely.” 

Shinji stared at him for a moment, measuring. Renji didn't know what he saw, but he sighed. 

“You know I'm...” He waved a hand over his face. “Hollowfied, right?” Renji nodded seriously. “I think I should be powerful enough to technically open a Garganta? But I've never really tried. Certainly not from inside one.” Shinji frowned. “And then there's the fact I can't really hold onto the mask for more than a few minutes, so if I do this, and it turns out it works, we're gonna have to be really freaking fast about it.” 

Renji looked somewhere between unconvinced and unimpressed, but he shrugged anyway. Shinji was quietly impressed by the fact the kid didn't seem to be freaking out about things as much as he probably should be. Then again, he _had_ won that bet, about his personality not really matching his looks. 

“I can try?” Renji offered, not quite confident, but certainly determined. 

Shinji snorted. 

“Good enough.” 

But the moment he pulled the mask over his face, shit went pear shaped all around them. 

  


* * *

  


Byakuya was going to murder someone. 

No, even better, Byakuya was going to murder _everyone_. 

He stood in place among his fellow Captains as the Captain Commander and the Visored had a spirited discussion on what they wanted, what they needed and what was actually going to happen. And while the core of the discussion was figuring out what had happened – Mayuri knew, of course he did, the creepy asshole, but no one had let him speak and he was not going to give out the information unless directly questioned now, because he'd been annoyed by the procedures – and how exactly to fix it, no one had bothered to really mention Renji. 

Byakuya felt it was halfway his fault, if only because he was supposed to speak up for Renji himself, but he didn't trust himself not to make a further mess if he did. He allowed the anger all but vibrating under his skin to do the talking, and sullenly glared at anyone who cared to look at him. 

Above all, Byakuya did not panic. 

Nothing ever good happened, when he panicked. He kept calm and sensible, and he would up until the point he couldn't. 

And then he was going to murder everyone and go find Renji on his own. 

“ _We_ don't leave our own behind,” Hiyori snapped, vitriol in her tone harsh enough to make the Captains from their generation seem at least a little constipated, if not outright flinching. “And if you lot ain't gonna do shit about it, we'll go to someone who can.” She looked over her shoulder at Mayuri, sneering just so. “Kisuke'll know how to fix this, anyway.” 

Byakuya closed his eyes and counted to a thousand as Mayuri's reiatsu howled a sickly red all around him, his eyes narrowed into tiny dots of yellow fury. 

  


* * *

  


“Oh,” the Arrancar said, expression falling into an indifferent mask as his eyes narrowed. “It's you.” 

Renji and Shinji looked up from the slowly disintegrating mass of Gillians at the newcomer. The horde had appeared out of nowhere, as soon as Shinji donned the mask and his reiatsu spiked and became more hollow-like. They hadn't had a chance to pursue their crazed, half-thought out plan to escape, either, what with the mob of menos grande rushing at them all at once, literally out of nowhere. 

It had been more of an annoyance at that point, than a real threat, but it had to be dealt with. Surprisingly, Renji found his fighting style complimented Shinji's, and they had fallen into a bizarrely comfortable silence as they hacked and slashed their way back into their starting point. 

“Grimm...low?” Renji tried, blinking at the new comer, but mostly at the fact he wasn't actively trying to kill them just yet. 

“Moron,” Shinji snorted, rolling his eyes at Renji almost affectionately, “his name's Grimblow.” 

“No, no,” Renji shook his head, reaching a hand to shove at Shinji's shoulder. “It's a stronger -ow sound, Grimmcow.” 

“Grimmhow?” 

They dodged a bright blue cero as the Arrancar lost his temper. 

“Stop fucking around, you assholes!” One Grimmjow Jaegerjaques screeched at them, expression murderous. 

Renji found himself pretty in-sync with Shinji, after the massive Gillian slaughter. Any misgivings he might have had about the blond and his creepy grin were long gone. Shinji seemed to feel the same, because he kept himself side by side with Renji, as he offered a grin of his own as they waited for the Arrancar to say more. After all, that cero had been positively puny, and Grimmjow hadn't even pulled out his sword. 

“I fucking hate shinigami,” was all he said, glaring at them both. 

“Just not enough to fight 'em, apparently,” Renji taunted, eyebrows arched. 

He'd seen the aftermath of Ichigo's first fight with Grimmjow, after all. While he was angry and very much unhappy to see them around, it was obvious he wasn't gunning for a fight. The guy was not the most subtle creature Renji had ever met, either. At his side, Shinji seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because the blond only smirked at the Arrancar, as if remembering a fond memory. 

“You're so lucky,” Grimmjow said instead, “that Harribel doesn't want another war so soon after last one.” He clicked his tongue in annoyance. He sneered. “And I suppose you'll also want me to get you out of here?” 

Then again, Renji was starting to realize that maybe Shinji really didn't fear anything, because he propped his sword on his shoulder and offered the Arrancar a mock-innocent smile. 

“Do we have to say please?” 

  


* * *

  


Byakuya stopped instinctively as a heavy arm was dropped on his shoulders. He turned his head slowly to find the owner of said arm giving him a lopsided smirk, completely unfazed by his dark glare. 

“Come along, Kuchiki-hime,” Zaraki said, tugging him along in a rather undignified display, with enough force behind the gesture that Byakuya had to comply, lest he stumbled. “The moping isn't cute.” 

“Remove the arm,” Byakuya hissed, expression frozen into a blank mask, his reiatsu twitching slightly in response. “Before I remove it for you.” 

“The fuck did I just say?” Zaraki grinned, leaning in and dragging Byakuya along. “I'm pretty sure only Abarai finds your bitch-fits cute.” 

Zaraki blocked the slash with a smirk. Byakuya wasn't entirely certain when he'd unsheathed his zanpakuto, but he felt himself burn with frustration and worry all tangled up into a knot of fury burning bright beneath his lungs. 

“I'm going to murder you,” Byakuya stated calmly, voice even and expression almost cordial. 

Zaraki leaped off the corridor down into the gardens, and Byakuya followed in a storm of petal-like blades and cold, single-minded rage. 

  


* * *

  


Shinji had never been to Hueco Mundo before. 

Renji hadn't missed it – or the still impressive if ruinous Las Noches – one bit, but at least the current administration didn't want to violently murder them just yet. 

So there was that, at least. 

  


* * *

  


“You put a lot of faith in that creature,” Mayuri observed, hands folded behind his back as he watched Yamamoto carefully sign a letter. “Kuchiki will be furious, more than he already is, at any rate, when he finds out.” 

“I know her kind very well,” Yamamoto answered after a moment. “She will not start another war after how the last one ended, particularly not over a shinigami and a Visored. That is, of course, if you are correct about their whereabouts.” When Mayuri bristled, offended by the implication, he went on, ignoring his fit of temper entirely. “You have other things to concern yourself with, Kurotsuchi Mayuri.” 

On principle alone, Mayuri wanted to be contrary. But then, he was not one to argue against the truth. Besides, the task he'd been entrusted with was far more entertaining and potentially interesting, than tracking down Kuchiki Byakuya's lieutenant and the Visored's unofficial leader. It was made even more interesting by having Hiyori wrecking havoc in his Division, ostensibly to help with the endeavor. He had to be very creative to keep her from realizing he had known exactly where the two missing morons had been almost from day one. 

“All I know,” Mayuri said, shrugging carelessly, “is that the source of the disturbance was neither Shinigami, Arrancar, Visored nor Quincy. It's utmost fascinating.” He paused for a moment, before giving Yamamoto a pointed look. “Almost as fascinating as your trust in that Arrancar, Yamamoto-soutaicho.” 

Yamamoto gave Mayuri an annoyed look. 

“One day you'll go to war, Kurotsuchi- _taicho_ ,” he said, focusing his attention on folding up the letter carefully. “And then perhaps you'll understand.” 

“I doubt it,” Mayuri admitted easily. “There's nothing for me to fight for, in a war. And you are working so hard to make sure this remains the last war of the century, as well. Nonetheless,” he added, bowing just barely, “if you excuse me.” 

Yamamoto watched him go, one of, but not the greatest, monster in his service. He'd always been good at taming the untamable, after all. 

It was a pity his true talents, however, had always been for war. 

  


* * *

  


On the seventh day of Renji's disappearance, Byakuya found himself storming through the gates of his Division and pretending as hard as he could that his left arm wasn't hanging limply off its socket. His men scrambled out of the way, giving him a wide berth as they'd had, since the first meeting he held to inform them their lieutenant was currently missing. The fact the air around the Sixth was heavy with worry and concern made Byakuya feel better in a roundabout, probably not very healthy way. 

He wasn't good with worry or concern, all he had was aimless, shapeless fury that he'd thrown at Zaraki every morning, since the day Renji had disappeared. He was inwardly moved at the gaping hole so clearly felt in the Sixth, and the comments he overheard, here and there, wistfully wishing for Renji's safe return. He was glad he was not the only one who knew for a fact that Renji was a good lieutenant to the Sixth. But he was no good at offering comfort to his upset troops. He was no good at offering comfort to anyone, really, not even himself. So he offered his feelings to the altar of his fury, and then fed that fury to Zaraki, who ever so graciously beat it out of him, until he limped away, exhausted but clearheaded enough to focus on the day's work. 

Renji would be appalled, Byakuya knew, and inwardly swore to sit through the inevitable lecture upon his return. 

Because of course Renji would return. 

Of course. 

“Truly, Kuchiki-taicho, if this is going to become a daily thing, I will simply set up a permanent room for you in the Fourth.” 

Byakuya stared at Unohana Retsu and her small, sharp smile, waiting for him in his office. It must have shown in his expression, because her eyes softened just a sliver. 

“Zaraki-taicho worries, sometimes,” she said, shaking her head slightly, “rarely and never in a reasonable way, but that is how he does things. I feel he's very invested in making sure you do not die, Kuchiki-taicho.” Her smile shifted yet again, and Byakuya remembered Renji's warnings about her. “I do believe you're the most interesting playmate he's had in decades.” 

The choice of the word playmate made Byakuya twitch a little. He let himself go, when fighting Zaraki. He aimed to maim and murder, because even instinctively he knew he could do neither to the unrelenting wall of reiatsu and sheer, brute strength that was Zaraki Kenpachi. But it was cathartic, to let go in such a way. And Zaraki seemed to enjoy it, in his own way. In a twisted, violent way, he supposed their interactions could be considered a game. 

“His concern is wasted,” Byakuya bit out, refusing to budge when she stared at the blood still running down his limp wrist. 

“I'd rather it wasn't,” Unohana replied, and stepped closer. “Now take a seat, and let me fix that arm. I dread to think what your lieutenant will say when he returns, if I've failed to properly look after your injuries, Kuchiki-taicho.” When he stared at her, surprise widening his eyes a little, Unohana chuckled. “Very spirited, that boy, though to tell you a secret, I think he might be a little scared of me.” And then, when Byakuya refused to answer, Unohana softened in a way that made Byakuya remember she was very, very old and he was very, very young, in comparison. “He will be back, Kurotsuchi-taicho has staked his pride on it.” 

“It is only his skill that is required,” Byakuya bit out petulantly, but went to sit where she pointed to and didn't wince when she placed a hand on his shoulder, assessing the damage he'd sustained. 

  


* * *

  


Renji walked over to where Shinji was overlooking the remnants of the battlefield and threw an arm over the scrawny shoulders as he sighed. 

“Remind me again,” he said, Zabimaru firmly held in his free hand, “how the fuck did we end up like this?” 

This being running errands and fighting mobs of unruly Arrancars in the name of the newly self-appointed Queen of Hueco Mundo. Harribel had promised them safe passage back to the world of the living, but only after she was done pacifying Las Noches and the hordes of Arrancar that were eagerly trying to crown themselves king of the hill. It didn't matter if the hill was in ruins, it was still the king's hill. The way Harribel had explained it, their untimely landing in a Garganta had been the result of a failed attempt by the loudest faction to invade Soul Society directly. It didn't make much sense to Renji, but admittedly he wasn't very good at understanding politics. That had always been Rukia's forte. Shinji seemed to have taken the explanation in stride, but it certainly helped that though Harribel was healed from her wounds at the battle in Karakura town, she hadn't actually attempted to murder them on sight. 

There was something she wasn't saying, they could tell, but neither was really sure how to get it out of her. 

“We're shit at negotiating, it turns out,” Shinji sighed and leaned back companionably against Renji's arm. “And you're a fucking freak who can't sit on his hands and stay out of a goddamn fight. Granted, the sooner the fight is over, the sooner we're supposed to go home, but still.” He snorted a laugh and dodged when Renji made to smack him. “And I'm also shit at opening Gargantas.” 

He had tried. Several times. It hadn't been pretty. 

It'd convinced them, however, that it was either wait for Soul Society to mount a rescue – unlikely, all things considered – or they took Harribel's terms and allow her to send them back to the Human world once she had the manpower to spare. Considering the wide-spread civil war in Hueco Mundo, they were reluctantly forced to agree it was more likely she literally could not spare anyone to escort them back out. 

The fact that she had offered that much, without prompting, was both suspicious and highly unusual. She had been courteous and oddly nonthreatening, despite the fact she was currently gunning to become Queen of Hueco Mundo and bring all the remnants of Aizens' army to heel. Renji had wanted to fight her – and Grimmjow, and her fracción, and basically every Arrancar he had met – but Shinji had looked at her, in the ruins of an audience hall, and smirked at her as he hid his eyes under his bangs. 

“Got you too, didn't he?” Was all he'd said, and though her mask made it physically impossible, Renji swore he'd seen the other time Third Espada smile wryly in reply. 

When Renji had asked about it, Shinji had merely looked at him in a way that reminded Renji sharply how much older than him the blond really was. 

Alone in not-quite-hostile but definitely not-friendly territory, Shinji and Renji had been forced to close ranks. They never strayed too far away from each other's sight, by unspoken agreement watching each other's back while playing up the indifference card to anyone who tried to talk to them. Like hanging out in Hueco Mundo and fighting alongside Arrancar was the most normal thing in the world. Like they did that sort of thing just for kicks, no sweat, and that no matter the size of the scuffle, they had plenty of power to spare. 

It was terrifying and nerve-wrecking, but they had little choice to survive otherwise. 

“They're winding down anyway,” Renji noted, letting go of Shinji to crouch down and take a better look at the battlefield. “These guys... they're a lot less... focused? More blind reactions than single-minded determination.” 

“Yeah,” Shinji snorted. “Hit a lot less hard than the first few waves.” He sneered a little. “Maybe the blue wonder boy did actually do his job and got their leader like he was told.” 

“Hasn't bragged endlessly about it, though,” Renji pointed out, “so who knows.” 

He wished, for the umpteenth time, that Byakuya was there with him. Because Byakuya was smart and observant and he would know best how to proceed. Renji didn't know how much of Shinji's carefree act was skin-deep and how much of it was genuine, but deep down he knew _he_ was nowhere near as cavalier about their situation as he keep forcing himself to act. 

But he was a survivor, in the end. And if Inuzuri had taught him something, it was that survival was never pretty. 

“There's something they're not telling us,” Shinji summarized, shaking his head and shrugging as in the distance, a bright green cero shot to the sky. The signal for them to join the fray again. “But then, we'll see how it goes.” 

Renji watched Shinji leap off towards the source of that cero, before he tightened his grip on Zabimaru and took off after him. 

It was going to be another long, tedious day. 

  


* * *

  


Byakuya was quietly going insane. 

His brutal fights with Zaraki became a morning ritual, one he didn't walk away from until blood was drawn. His days were filled with twice as much paperwork as usual, as he refused categorically to delegate Renji's share. And his nights were full of empty silences and poor sleep. Nonetheless, he kept himself as composed as he could, frozen on the surface while in his gut helplessness roared into a furious fire that would not be quenched. Every morning he dressed with careful slowness, forcing upon himself the haori and the kenseikan as restraints to keep him from using his family's senkaimon and go off to find Renji himself. 

He sat before Hisana's altar every evening, trying to divine an answer from her portrait, but she remained silent as the dead should be. 

Rukia returned from the Human world and all he could do was watch her, refusing to speak his mind, for all his thoughts were of Renji. She returned to the manor, rather than her barracks, in response, and Byakuya didn't know how he felt about her, sitting by his side at every moment she could spare, at his left, never his right, because they both tacitly agreed who should sit there. 

“You must think me very silly,” Byakuya told her finally, on the fifteenth day since Renji's disappearance, as they watched the garden and waited for a hell butterfly to bring news that the redhead had been found. “To be so upset over a man I tried to kill, once.” 

Rukia stared at him, wide-eyed, as the implication behind the words became clear to her. Byakuya tilted his head slightly, hiding his face behind his hair, and startled minutely when she inched her way to sit close enough her arm pressed against his own. He closed his eyes, when her hand found his, holding onto it with a tenacity he dearly envied her at the moment. 

“I would never dare,” Rukia whispered, fierce, “to ridicule your feelings, Nii-sama.” 

Byakuya held his sister's hand and refused to contemplate all he had lost and never had, in the first place. 

  


* * *

  


The prize Harribel was after, Donquixote Andaluce, turned out to be rather underwhelming, in person. A withered, sickly thin Arrancar with a helmet-like mask covering the top of his head and hiding his eyes. He hadn't tried to fight, when he'd been captured, and he'd whimpered, when he'd been presented to Harribel. Renji was hardly impressed by the old man, and by the down turn on Shinji's mouth, neither was he. 

What had been surprising was Harribel's decision to escort them personally back to Soul Society, as she revealed the Arrancar's special abilities. Renji pretended he didn't notice what a pristine and stable foothold was set out before them, as Harribel walked them towards the exit, her back boldly turn to them. Donquixote groveled every step of the way, swearing loyalty with increasing fervor and denouncing he'd been forced to stray away from his place at Harribel's service. Shinji's grim expression kept Renji from voicing any thoughts he had, about the arrangement. 

Nothing, however, could have prepared Renji for the sight that greeted them at the other end of the Garganta. 

The Captain Commander, flanked at his right by his lieutenant and at his left by the Captain of the Twelfth. 

Renji and Shinji stepped out of the Garganta and back into the solid ground of Soul Society in unison, but Harribel was ever so careful not to cross the border. Renji stared when she stabbed Donquixote straight through the heart, expression betraying nothing. He seemed to be the only one surprised, he noticed, as everyone else looked on with varying degrees of nonchalance that made Renji feel like he wasn't supposed to be there at all. 

“A gesture of good will,” Harribel said, watching dispassionately as the dead Arrancar fell through and landed on the ground at Yamamoto's feet. “And now I trust you shall keep your word, as I've kept mine.” 

Yamamoto slammed his cane on the ground and turned around, baring his back to her in an eerily similar fashion as she had done to Renji and Shinji when she entered the Garganta. Renji felt tired and at the edge of a very unbecoming breakdown brought on by sheer adrenaline overdose, but somehow he knew it wasn't going to be that easy. 

The moment passed, as the Garganta closed and Harribel disappeared with it. Mayuri made an interested sound in the back of his throat, as he approached the corpse and everyone else vanished from his awareness. 

“Hirako Shinji, Abarai Renji,” Yamamoto said, with enough authority in his tone that Renji stood to attention on reflex. “To my office for debriefing.” 

Renji looked at Shinji, quietly wondering when the whole ordeal was going to end, and found the blond could only offer a one-shoulder shrug. Somehow, after all they'd seen and done together, Renji found the gesture terribly comforting. 

  


* * *

  


“I don't suppose you're gonna let me take a few days off to sleep before you start yelling at me, are you?” 

Byakuya's head snapped up at the sound of Renji's voice. He stared stupidly for a moment, wondering if he'd truly lost it, but then Renji began to fidget in the face of his stony silence. He realized he hadn't known Renji was capable of fidgeting, so it stood to reason it was the man himself, rather than a hallucination. 

“You're late,” Byakuya said, settling on the most innocuous thing he could think of, as he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Renji. 

When Renji flinched at the words, Byakuya put down his brush carefully and stood up. He walked around his desk toward the door, which Renji seemed to be trying his damn hardest to melt into, as he shrunk back and held onto his paper thin smile at best he could. 

He remembered, all of a sudden, that Byakuya had to be massively pissed off at him still, from his indiscretion on their last night in the Human world. Renji had sort of forgotten about that, with everything that had happened. But Byakuya hadn't spent endless hours chasing Arrancar in the wastelands of Hueco Mundo and trying to sleep as little as possible because there was no guarantee he'd wake up at all. Byakuya had been in Soul Society, stewing in his anger over Renji's stupidity and possibly preparing to retaliate with all that pent up fury all at once. The strange fluctuations in his Captain's reiatsu weren't exactly contradicting that theory. 

“I'm so sorry,” Renji began, hastily composing a formal letter of apology in his head, just for existing. 

But he never got past that, since Byakuya grabbed his face between his hands – not dead yet! Renji thought stupidly – and pulled him down to press his mouth against his. 

Oh, Renji thought, feeling his face burn at the same time his entire body went slack as he closed his eyes and kissed back. Okay then. 

  


* * *

  



	12. Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuya gets scolded like a child. Renji realizes a few things. And both attempt to sort out the mess they've landed themselves in.

  


* * *

  


XII. Realizations. 

  


* * *

  


As the kiss wound down, and Renji realized exactly how exhausted he was, he found himself resting his forehead on Byakuya's shoulder as his Captain wrapped his arms around his shoulders. It took Renji an embarrassing long moment to realize he was being hugged, or that he was returning the gesture quite fiercely, but before he could say something coherent, Byakuya snorted in his ear. 

“You may take two.” 

Renji pulled back just enough to look at Byakuya in the eye. 

“What?” 

It was hard to describe the expression on Byakuya's face. Renji knew in his gut he was pleased. Hell, that was probably the happiest he'd ever seen him. But it wasn't written on his face, like it would be in anyone else's, like Rukia's or Momo's or hell even Shinji's. It was just the lack of tension in his Captain's serious expression that telegraphed everything Renji needed to know. 

He wasn't sure when he'd gotten so good at deciphering the nuance behind Byakuya's endless parade of blank faces and the minuscule nuggets of emotion and meaning tucked behind every gesture. It was just there all of a sudden, as familiar as Zabimaru's weight in his hand or the pattern of black stripes he was still trying to complete on his skin. He just knew what it meant, when Byakuya tilted his head in a certain angle or when his mouth twitched on one side but not the other, and he couldn't for the life of him explain how he'd figured it out or at what point it had become as fluid as an actual language. 

“Two days,” Byakuya said, arching one eyebrow even though Renji was wholly distracted by the slight flush to his lips, where he'd kissed him. His face went entirely red again, as if only just remembering he'd kissed his Captain. Byakuya went on, undisturbed. “You may take two days off to rest from your... ordeal.” 

“Really?” Renji looked so surprised that Byakuya found it heartbreaking. “You're not mad at me?” 

“Terribly,” Byakuya deadpanned dryly, giving Renji a look that reminded him, yet again, that he'd just kissed his Captain and was still, in fact, holding onto him. “We shall have words, Abarai-fukutaicho.” 

“But–“ 

“ _Later_ , Renji,” Byakuya insisted, gently pushing him away. 

Renji scowled. 

“Have I ever told you how fucking annoying it is when you say that?” He said, though his annoyance felt strangely pouty, like a child's, and something in the way Byakuya's eyes glinted at him let him know his Captain's thought so as well. 

“Not particularly,” Byakuya replied, twitching his left shoulder as if to shrug. “Nor do I really care, provided you obey.” When Renji's eyes narrowed, Byakuya rolled his own. Renji spluttered a little because he hadn't known Byakuya could even _do_ that. “Your Division and your friends have been worried sick, Renji,” he said, carefully omitting the bit where he was the one sickest and most worried of them all. “Go let them know you're fine, and then take your rest.” He hesitated just a second, before adding: “And then we may talk.” 

Byakuya made a sort of shooing motion with his left hand, but stared when Renji caught his wrist in his own. Renji was staring at his hand, as well, as if trying to understand what it was doing. Part of him wanted to kiss Byakuya again, if only to make sure that was actually a thing he'd just done. Part of him wanted to run away from the intensity of his Captain's eyes and just... roll over and die in embarrassment. And part of him just wanted to find somewhere plush and comfortable and maybe pass out for the entirety of the two days he'd been granted. The end result was that Renji held onto Byakuya's wrist and completely lost his nerve as his face flushed, trying to piece together what he should actually do and in what order. 

“Are you absolutely, positively sure you're not mad at me?” Renji asked, awkwardly trying to shrink down again. 

Byakuya's lips pulled into a sliver of a smile, and Renji felt the urge to kiss him renew with a vengeance. 

“Fairly sure, Renji,” Byakuya said patiently, and then pulled his hand away to physically push Renji towards the door. “At least so long as you refrain from passing out on my floor.” 

Renji let go of his wrist immediately, and Byakuya felt a pang of disappointment at the loss of contact. Renji's reaction over all had dulled the edge of frantic thoughts inside his head, but as he watched his lieutenant nod slowly and then purposely walk out of the room, he knew it was only a matter of time before all those terrible ideas fell on him at once. 

“I'll... I'll see you soon, then,” Renji said, somewhat uncertain as the blush remained stubbornly on his face. 

“Yes,” Byakuya promised, “but only after you've rested.” 

Renji nodded awkwardly. 

“Right.” 

Byakuya waited until he closed the door before he disappeared himself. 

  


* * *

  


“Why was I not immediately notified, when my lieutenant was found?” 

Byakuya began to reconsider his abrupt arrival at the Captain Commander's office, when all Yamamoto did was look at him with a hint of exasperation. Nonetheless, it was all too late for him to take the words back and pretend he'd never been there at all, so Byakuya held onto his indignation with all his might and hoped it would be enough to carry him through the entire conversation. 

If there even was a conversation, anyway. 

“Whatever for?” Yamamoto asked in reply, and began writing on a fresh piece of paper, dropping his eyes dismissively. “He was not harmed or arrested. And after the appropriate debriefing, he was sent on his way back to your Division.” 

Byakuya knew that was his cue to leave. Byakuya knew he should turn around and leave. Byakuya refused to bite his tongue. 

“He was missing for over two weeks,” he said, voice as even as he could make it, despite the fact he could feel his anger boiling in his gut. 

Yamamoto looked up again, lips pursed into a slightly annoyed line. It reminded Byakuya, bizarrely enough, of his grandfather, after Byakuya had done something spectacularly stupid and Ginrei felt the need to handle the clean up for that mess personally. The Captain of the Sixth suddenly felt very, very young and inexperienced, and found he disliked the feeling intensely. 

“He was not missing,” Yamamoto said casually, unperturbed by the slight widening of Byakuya's eyes. “He was merely misplaced during that unfortunate incident. He was, in fact, under custody of a suitable agent of the Gotei 13, along with Hirako Shinji, and his very presence I dare say might have helped solidify a standing agreement of neutrality with said agent. He is unharmed and has brought great pride and honor to himself, his Division and by extension yourself.” 

Yamamoto's expression soured ever so slightly, and he went on, before Byakuya could open his mouth to spill out the terrible things lying in wait on his tongue. 

“You, on the other hand, have been nothing short of a wreck of poor self-control and unbecoming self-destruction tendencies.” Byakuya shut his mouth so tightly he nearly bit through his tongue. “Do remember how to keep your temper in check, Kuchiki-taicho, or I will personally escort you to Ginrei's doorstep, so he may once more school you in proper discipline. Captains and lieutenants exist to support one another, but they must be able to function without each other during an emergency. If you do not trust your lieutenant to survive an emergency without your coddling, you have but two options as I see it. Train him to be strong enough so you need not fuss about every single thing he does, or demote him and find a suitable replacement.” 

Byakuya stood in dumbstruck silence for a long moment, as Yamamoto began writing once more, completely ignoring him. He felt a pang of shame at the spike of fury that, even then, burned in his gut. His first instinct was to argue against those accusations. 

And yet that would do nothing more but further prove them correct. 

Pushed between a rock and a very hard place, Byakuya made a decision, closing his eyes. So very slowly, very deliberately, he bowed and felt his spine creak in protest as he did so. 

“We are both aware it is not Renji who is at fault,” Byakuya said, because despite it all, the thought of Renji demoted or taken away from the Sixth was unacceptable. “Nor is his strength in question. You needn't do anything, Yamamoto-soutaicho, I will see to my own shortcomings personally.” 

Yamamoto didn't deign to acknowledge the display, and continued writing with a slow, steady hand. Byakuya held himself in place, and suffered through the humiliation in as stern a silence as he could. 

“See that you do,” Yamamoto said, after he finished filling the page with careful, deliberate writing, and what felt like an eternity for Byakuya. “Dismissed.” 

  


* * *

  


Despite his best intentions, it had taken him nearly two hours to reach his room, and by then the exhaustion had made itself known so thoroughly, all he really wanted was to drop into his bedding and sleep until he felt vaguely like himself again. 

Renji had felt a strange, warm and fuzzy feeling, on his walk from Byakuya's office to his own quarters, on the other side of the complex. It was mostly fueled by the sheer amount of people from the Division who stopped to welcome him back and ask if he was alright. He chatted a bit with each of them, some small talk because it felt rude to just dismiss their concern just because he was tired, but he ultimately sent them on their way to do... whatever it was they were supposed to be doing. 

Yet, once he found himself under the covers – it was December already, he remembered with a jolt, and he'd already missed the first snows – he found he couldn't sleep, no matter how much he wanted to. 

All he could think about, now that he was somewhere safe and familiar, was the taste of Byakuya's mouth and his arms around his shoulders. Renji pressed a hand to his face and found it burning hot with awkward embarrassment. He'd kissed his Captain. He'd _kissed_ his Captain. His Captain. Kuchiki-taicho. He'd kissed him. There was a tiny part of Renji's mind that pointed out the fact Byakuya had kissed him, honestly, not the other way around, but it was summarily overwhelmed by the mixture of panic and excitement because _he'd kissed his Captain_. 

He didn't know how he felt about that, he realized, and that was the problem. 

Renji had been aware of how close he'd become with Byakuya, over the course of the war and how apparent it became, during their stay in the Human world. He remembered his Captain, on those first weeks as his lieutenant and how everything had gone to shit with the threat of Rukia's execution. He still had the scars from the fateful fight, when he'd naively thought just attaining Bankai would be enough to bring the arrogant, ruthless head of the Kuchiki clan down to earth and teach him a lesson in humility. Instead, it had been Renji who had been taught his place and how truly gaping was the distance between them. He should hate the man, if nothing else, for that alone, and Renji remembered all the times Byakuya had suggested precisely that. 

But Renji knew he didn't hate his Captain. He didn't even resent him his strength. Rukia had confided to him the truth Byakuya had shared with her in the aftermath of Aizen's betrayal, and Renji had felt most of his hatred crumble over it. Because he understood loyalty best of everything, and he knew he wouldn't have been strong enough to survive being put in such a situation. It had been the first time he'd seen the splendor and glory of the great noble houses of Soul Society, with all their wealth and their power, and realized they too paid a stern price for it. Renji came from nothing, had always had nothing, but he also owed nothing, to anyone. His actions were his own, his decisions were always focused on what he wanted and the risks he was willing to take. And above all, Renji was not responsible for anyone, other than himself. Renji was free in a way he'd come to realize Byakuya would never be, because being so low and insignificant, he could only hope to move up, become better. Whereas Byakuya, hailed far and wide as standing on a pedestal as the pinnacle of perfection he was, could logically only move one way, and that was down. 

Such had always been his understanding, of where he and his Captain stood, and it had bred some compassion in Renji, without him even noticing. He had taken it upon himself, during the course of the war, to be and do all those things his Captain couldn't be and do himself, being who he was. He'd worked hard and shouldered his half of the burden for the Division, honing his skills as a lieutenant and training to become as strong as he could be, so that the next time Byakuya found himself caught in such a trap, weighted down by his own station and unable to act the way he truly wanted to, Renji would be capable of acting in his stead. 

But Byakuya had changed the rules of engagement, in the aftermath of the war, and Renji was now terribly unsure of what it all meant. 

He had acknowledged his strength and his abilities, and refusing to allow Renji to shoulder undue blame for anything he did. Renji remembered how pissed off he'd been, in the aftermath of Byakuya's second fight with Zaraki, what with everyone assuming it had to be him who had wreaked so much havoc. But when he'd gone to confront Byakuya about it, he'd done so with the understanding that his Captain would be amused about it. Never in a million years, would Renji have known Byakuya would go out and address the situation in such a way that Renji ended up receiving apologies and reparations for that misunderstanding. 

Furthermore, Byakuya had acknowledged his status as lieutenant and demanded Renji acted like it. He'd left the door open for him, metaphorically speaking, for him to voice his thoughts and opinions, with the implication that Byakuya would heed them if Renji offered them. And he had proven he meant it, repeatedly, during their stay in the Human world. Renji had never felt closer to his Captain before, after he realized he really didn't need to bite his tongue for fear of retaliation, that Byakuya honestly and sincerely cared what Renji had to say. 

But then he'd ruined it all, by overstepping his place. 

Renji rolled under the covers and buried his flaming face into the pillow as the memory he'd most tried to avoid remembering came back with a vengeance: the weight and warmth of Byakuya's body in his arms, the faint scent of his hair in his nose. He didn't know what had possessed him to do that and he had half a mind to swear off alcohol for the rest of his life, if it meant he'd never do something so stupid again. He wasn't blind. He knew damn well his Captain was attractive. But he was his _Captain_. Renji had never allowed himself think about Byakuya that way, not because he couldn't, but because deep down he knew he shouldn't. Because Byakuya was the head of the Kuchiki clan and his Captain and his ultimate goal in life. Because Renji had realized the pedestal was there, and just as he'd decided, one day, to become reliable enough Byakuya would let him act when he himself couldn't, he'd also decided he would never put his place at Byakuya's side in jeopardy over something as silly as a crush. 

Only, after his terrible indiscretion, he'd come home not to anger and disappointment, but Byakuya's hands holding his face and his mouth pressed to his lips, and Renji was so terribly tired he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it all meant. 

Renji pulled the covers over his head and tried to concentrate on sleeping. His only comfort, in a sense, was that at least he didn't dream of Hueco Mundo. 

  


* * *

  


“You don't have to do this,” Hiyori snarled, giving Shinji a dark glare. 

They sat around the fire pit, ostensibly eating dinner, but Hachi's barrier around the perimeter of the building they'd been given as their own for the duration of their stay – or until they were reinstated and sent back to their respective barracks – was more than enough to isolate them from any prying ears and allowed them to speak their minds freely. 

“No, I don't _have_ to,” Shinji agreed, shrugging. “Believe it or not, that little side-trip to Hueco Mundo convinced me that Yamamoto is serious about letting bygones be bygones. He would genuinely let us go, no strings attached.” He shook his head. “But just because he does mean it, doesn't mean it wouldn't be wise to have someone stationed here, in a couple hundred years, when some punk moron brings it up again. Staying would be a good way to make sure Soul Society doesn't turn us into boogeymen just because we're not here to defend ourselves, and if it does end up going to shit, there'll be someone here to sound the alarm on you guys and make sure you get out in time.” 

“We have thought about this ourselves,” Rose said, shrugging. “What Hiyori means is that it needn't be _you_ , specifically, who stays.” 

He dodged the punch as Hiyori hissed that she could damn well explain herself on her own, thank you very much, and gave Shinji a knowing look. 

“You don't know what he did to my Division,” Shinji replied, voice carefully devoid of all emotion. “You don't know what he did to his lieutenant.” 

“He did it,” Kensei snorted, shoving Shinji's shoulder roughly, “not you.” 

“But I can fix it,” Shinji insisted, frowning. “And I will. I just want you to know that just because I am staying, it doesn't mean you have to. This might be your only chance to walk away with a clean ledger, and if you want to take it, you absolutely should.” 

“Somebody gag him before he sprains something, trying to be such a paragon of goodness,” Lisa deadpanned, not taking her eyes off her book. 

Shinji spluttered, and then dodged when Kensei gave him a look that meant he was very happy to take Lisa's suggestion literally. 

  


* * *

  


Renji woke up to the sound of someone knocking on his door. 

Mostly half asleep still, he fought off the covers and made his way to the door, still wearing only his favorite bright pink yukata. He woke up a lot more when he realized it was Byakuya standing at his door. 

“Um,” Renji said eloquently, flushing on reflex and wondering in despair if he was ever going to be able to be within five feet of Byakuya ever again, without feeling his face heat up enough to melt. 

“I apologize,” Byakuya said, expression bland, “I know I did promise to leave you be for two days, but I need you to be dressed and ready for an official function in about two hours.” 

“Of course, Taicho,” Renji nodded, then squinted a bit. “What's going on?” 

“Three of the Visored have accepted Yamamoto-soutaicho's proposal and he has ordered them reinstated effective immediately.” Byakuya did that thing again, that Renji was starting to be fascinated by, where he shrugged without actually shrugging. “As per tradition, all other Captains and lieutenants are expected to be present.” There was a pause, and something changed in Byakuya's expression, but before Renji could decipher it, he found himself flushing again by what his Captain said next: “I know you must be tired still, so feel free to take the rest of the day off, after the ceremony.” 

Renji reached a decision, as he bowed his head. He hoped, against all hope, that Byakuya would understand what he meant by the gesture and the formal tone of his reply. 

“Yes, sir. Thank you for your consideration, sir.” 

When Renji looked up, Byakuya was giving him a measuring look, but didn't seem displeased. He got a small nod for his effort, before his Captain turned to walk down the corridor. 

“Tardiness will not be tolerated, Abarai-fukutaicho,” Byakuya said, without stopping or looking back, and Renji felt a weight lift off his shoulders. 

Because yes, they had a lot of things to talk about and figure out, on a personal level, but they were still Captain and lieutenant of the Sixth. Renji knew the most noble and reasonable thing had to be the one that allowed them to _remain_ Captain and lieutenant of the Sixth for the foreseeable future. 

“Wouldn't dream of it, Kuchiki-taicho,” Renji grinned, and felt somehow better about the whole damn mess. 

  


* * *

  



	13. Boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The former Captains are reinstated. Renji and Byakuya talk, and then do more than talking.

  


* * *

  


XIII. Boundaries. 

  


* * *

  


Renji wasn't late, when he walked into the corridor outside the Captain's meeting hall, but he wasn't the first one there either. 

Momo, Kira and Shuuhei were already there, standing nervously off the side and pretending very hard they weren't doing precisely that. Renji tried to imagine what they were going through, but he knew he'd never really understand it. After all, for all his troubles with his Captain, and for all he and Byakuya had had their ups and downs in their partnership, their loyalties had always aligned in the end. Sure, it took them a while to figure that out and it had been messy before they realized it and really believed it, but Renji couldn't imagine Byakuya doing something like the traitor Captains had done. If the day came, when Byakuya betrayed the Gotei 13, Renji was sure it would be because the Gotei 13 was no longer honorable enough to serve. 

And that just seemed unreal to even contemplate. 

Nonetheless, he offered a small smile as he approached his fellow lieutenants and summarily decided that he didn't need to understand the kind of awkward pain they had to be going through, to be a good friend about it. 

“Renji!” Momo exclaimed when she saw him, still a little paler than usual but certainly miles better than she'd been, in the aftermath of Aizen's battle. “You're back!” 

Renji hadn't been there to see it, but he'd heard about it and he'd seen them carry her over to the Twelfth, when not even Unohana-taicho had been enough to help her. There were dark shadows around her eyes and her right hand grasped the hilt of her zanpakuto at all times, but she was walking on her own and there was a spark of... well, life in her eyes that had been solely missing from them ever since Aizen showed his true colors. Renji was glad for it, because Momo was one of the nicest people he knew, and she definitely did not deserve the sheer amount of bullshit the world had seen fit to pile on her. 

“Yo,” Renji said, raising a hand in greeting. “Got back yesterday, actually.” He offered Momo a sincere smile. “Good to see you back on your feet, too.” 

Kira and Shuuhei looked a bit startled at that, giving him looks that suggested they had been avoiding the topic all together, but Momo's smile softened in return. 

“It's good to be back,” she said, before shrugging slightly. “Kurotsuchi-taicho wasn't exactly happy about it, either, but I couldn't afford not to be here.” Her expression turned wry. “I don't want to give the new Captain a bad impression.” 

Renji ignored Kira and Shuuhei's increasingly less subtle glares to drop the subject and snorted loudly, rolling his eyes with a flourish. 

“Pretty sure if your new Captain considers you feeling under the weather after all that's happened a bad impression, that means he's a colossal asshole.” 

“Renji!” Momo admonished him, though she covered a smile with a hand. 

“Well, it's true,” he insisted, but was saved from further comment by Rangiku's arrival. 

“Hinamori-chan!” Who proceeded to wrap the smaller girl into a tight hug, and then gave Renji a suspicious look. “You better not be picking on her, Renji.” 

Renji grinned and gave her a mock-offended look. 

“Breaking my heart here, Matsumoto,” he replied, making to clutch at his chest. “Not even a welcome back before you're accusing me of dastardly things?” 

“But you're so _good_ at dastardly things,” Rangiku said, wiggling her eyebrows a little before laughing when Renji smirked at her. “Besides, it's not a proper welcome without booze. That can wait for the party after the ceremony.” 

“There's going to be a party?” Shuuhei asked, sounding surprised. 

“The best kind of party!” Yachiru giggled, landing on his head with as much grace as a sack of bony rocks. “ _Our_ kind of party!” 

Renji, who had been subject to that particular tackle attack many times and would never forget it, gave Shuuhei a sympathetic look as the lieutenant of the Eleventh laughed in delight and patted his head a little too hard. 

“Zaraki-taicho volunteered,” Rangiku explained, grinning wryly as Shuuhei tried to keep his composure and simultaneously peel Yachiru off his head. She gave Renji a teasing smirk. “Said something about taking the chance to celebrate the complete remodeling of his barracks, if memory serves.” 

Renji valiantly resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands and groan as long and loud as he felt like. 

“I'm totally going to that party,” he announced, heaving a small sigh, “and you're totally getting me good and drunk, because I will not survive reviewing expenses tomorrow without it.” 

“I insist,” Shuuhei snorted, having resigned himself to be Yachiru's seat for the time being, “your Captain is absolutely terrifying.” 

Renji rolled his eyes and pointedly said nothing, because he had nothing to say to counter the blatant truth of that statement. 

“I wonder...” Kira spoke up quietly, “what our new Captains will be like?” 

The silence stretched for a moment, and he almost regretted speaking up, tilting his head so his hair covered most of his face. But before he could apologize for it, Renji snorted loudly. 

“I don't really know who accepted and who didn't,” he said, although he had a good hunch about it, and shrugged a bit when he found himself the subject of stares. “But I can tell you this much, they aren't all that bad, the Visored. You don't want to be sober, when they're drunk, but. You know. Alright bunch.” 

Rangiku opened her mouth to comment, but then closed it without uttering a sound. 

“Alright bunch? _Alright bunch?_ ” Shinji said, mockingly, as he approached the group with a slow walk, “Renji, I thought we were friends.” 

Kira winced. Shuuhei seemed to have swallowed his tongue. Momo pressed her lips tight together, unsure of what she could or couldn't say. 

For his part, Renji rolled his eyes and took a deep breath, ready to face the blond's particular style of teasing. More so if it meant helping along good – proper – first impressions. 

“Well, I'm not entirely opposed to be seen in public with – holy fuck, _what happened to your hair?_ ” Renji blurted out, all composure forgotten as he turned around and came face to face with Shinji. 

And Shinji's new lopsided bangs. 

As an afterthought, he noticed the blond was already wearing the corresponding white haori, and that even in uniform, he still didn't look the part. Renji had already made peace with the fact that Shinji might never really look the part in his eyes, if nothing else because he'd seen the man flick literal boogers at Grimmjow for the sake of watching the Arrancar have a profanity meltdown. But still. 

“Overripe pineapples don't get to have an opinion,” Shinji said, sniffing disdainfully. 

Rangiku swallowed back a desperate giggle at that comment, but Renji powered through with sheer force of deadpan. 

“Overripe pineapples are at least symmetrical, though,” he said, and arched both eyebrows as if inviting a rebuke. 

Shinji gave him an unamused look before sighing and relaxing a little. He did that thing, that Renji wasn't entirely sure made sense at all, where his shoulders slumped just enough that suddenly he was about as intimidating as a wet paper bag. He'd seen Shinji fight, with and without his mask, and he knew for a fact the man could very well wipe the floor with him on a straight match. But there was just a way he carried himself sometimes, that was so utterly nonthreatening Renji almost forgot about his powers and his skills and all the things he was capable of doing. 

It was a good thing, though, he supposed, because a nonthreatening Shinji was about the best thing that could meet with the nervous lieutenants standing around Renji. 

“Hiyori's parting gift,” he explained, rolling his eyes. “She and the others left this morning. I suppose I should be glad she didn't leave a scar.” He gave Renji a teasing smirk. “I mean, with this face, that'd have been a tragedy.” 

“Uh huh,” Renji nodded, smirking back in a way that telegraphed his feelings about that pretty clearly. “Now stop being a dick,” Kira made a chiding noise in the back of his throat that Renji ignored entirely, “and introduce yourself properly to these guys, before I do it for you.” 

Shinji grinned his favorite creepy grin, folding his arms into the sleeves of his haori as he arched an eyebrow tauntingly. 

“Maybe I do want you to introduce me,” he said, and then wiggled his eyebrows, “what do you have to say about me, Overripe-Pineapple-fukutaicho?” 

Renji was nonplussed. 

“This is Hirako Shinji,” he said dutifully, turning to face his fellow lieutenants, “former Captain of the Fifth, de-facto boss-man of the Visored, and living fucking proof that being really powerful and really goddamn _stupid_ are not mutually exclusive.” 

“Renji!” 

But Shinji's laughter drowned out the concerned admonishments, and Renji was grinning widely even as Shinji mock-punched his side in retaliation. 

“You're buying me a beer for that,” Shinji declared, shaking his head. “And maybe then I won't tell your friends about your habit to go Bankai inside a Gillian's mouth.” 

Shuuhei made a strangled noise in the back of his throat as Renji's face flushed in embarrassment. 

“You kind of already did!” Renji hissed, resisting the urge to reach out and just smack the smart ass. 

Shinji stuck his pinkie into his ear and looked at the side, feigning indifference. 

“Oh, did I?” He gave Renji an innocent smile. “ _Whoops_.” 

Momo chose that moment to step forward, away from Rangiku's arm still around her shoulders, and came to stop in front of Shinji. Shuuhei and Kira tensed visibly as she bowed respectfully before him. 

“I'm Hinamori Momo, lieutenant of the Fifth,” she said, before she stood up properly. “I hope you find my work satisfactory, Hirako-taicho.” 

Shinji was quiet for a moment, but then all tension dissipated as he smiled without an ounce of mocking. 

“That's my line, Hinamori-fukutaicho,” he said, offering a small shrug. “You're gonna have to be patient with me, while I remember how all this goes, okay? I'm a little rusty.” 

As the other lieutenants offered their own introductions, slightly less cautious than one might have expected, Renji was sure things were going to be alright. 

  


* * *

  


The Ceremony had come and gone. Byakuya had stood in place and stared impassively at nothing in particular as Yamamoto's voice droned on about something or other that was nowhere near as interesting as Renji's steady presence at Byakuya's back. To be fair, he told himself, he wasn't terribly invested in the fate of the Visored who were now to be his fellow Captains. He didn't know them very well, but at the very least he didn't dislike them nearly as much as he despised some of the others who shared his rank. At the end of the day, the three Visored were reinstated and everyone else had been dismissed once the Captain Commander had run out of words to throw at them. 

Byakuya was aware that a good chunk of the Gotei 13, including most of his fellow Captains and their lieutenants, had left the First and headed straight to the Eleventh. Zaraki had had the absolute nerve to personally invite him along, citing an urgent need to remove the massive stick currently shoved up unmentionable places. 

Instead, Byakuya had headed back to his office to look after the last bits of paperwork and fully intending to spend a quiet evening at home. He was not at all expecting Renji to be in the room, leaning on the windowsill off the side of his desk. 

“Renji,” he said, frowning ever so slightly, “I believe I told you to take the day off.” 

Renji didn't seem surprised to see him, he just shrugged as he pushed off the window and walked over to where Byakuya was standing. There was again that moment where Renji seemed like he wanted to do something and reconsidered at the last possible second, instead leaving himself standing far too close. Although Byakuya didn't entirely mind it. 

“I was gonna,” Renji said, scratching the back of his head a little awkwardly as his face began to heat up again. “Only, I kinda promised I'd swung by the party in the Eleventh, and if I do, I'm probably end up blind drunk and hungover as hell tomorrow. And I remembered you said we'd talk, tomorrow. And...” He licked his lips, dropping his gaze to Byakuya's shoulders when his eyes became too much to bear at once. “And that's not... not the kind of talk I want to be hangover for, is it?” 

“We could have simply talked the day after tomorrow,” Byakuya said, trying to hold onto his pragmatism and pretending very hard he wasn't in the least moved by Renji's awkward explanation. 

“I don't think I could wait another day,” Renji said, face burning as he looked down at his feet. “To sort this out.” 

“If you are so distressed by-” 

Byakuya's eyes widened ever so slightly as he trailed off, when one of Renji's hands reached out to touch his face, before Renji leaned in and pressed his mouth against his. Despite himself, he closed his eyes and leaned in further into the kiss, savoring it for what it was. He did note that Renji slowly relaxed into the gesture, tension leaving his back as the moment dragged on, and he wondered what he had expected to happen. The kiss grew momentum, however, as he wrapped an arm around Renji's shoulders, anchoring him in place. When he raised his free hand to hold onto Renji's shoulder, the redhead caught it with one of his own, and Byakuya made a small, pleased sound in the back of his throat as Renji's fingers closed around his wrist. 

“There,” the redhead said, muttering against his lips with his eyes half-lidded. Byakuya realized he'd closed his own at some point, and found he did not think Renji's face up against his own to be a unpleasant thing to look up at. “Now you can tell me I can't do that anymore.” 

A slim, black eyebrow arched in reply. 

“Must I?” Byakuya asked, voice ever so slightly breathy and eyes narrowed just a bit as he tried his best to piece together Renji's thoughts, and found, as usual, he could not. 

“It's what you want us to talk about, isn't it?” Renji said, shrugging as he tried to step away and found Byakuya's hold kept him right where he was. His eyes widened uncertainly as he licked his lips. “I'm your lieutenant,” he added, as if it explained everything. 

In a way, it did. 

“And I am your Captain, yes,” Byakuya agreed easily. When Renji gave him a lost look, he leaned in to press his forehead against his. “I'm afraid that is the only certainty I might offer you, at this moment.” 

He found that, although he had prepared himself for the conversation, it was an entirely different thing, trying to put his thoughts in order and then into words, with Renji there, close enough to touch, than it had been in the privacy of his own mind. And Byakuya realized all of a sudden, how vulnerable he was about to make himself, even though he'd long decided to do so anyway. 

“I know not what else we might become,” he said, purposely stressing that _we_ and knowing Renji understood his intention when his eyes widened again, “if we follow along this path, but that at least will not change.” 

Not as vulnerable, however, as Renji looked right there and then. 

He had expected many things, after all. From anger and disappointment to indifference and cold distance. He had not at all anticipated being offered to pursue the wondrously terrifying thing that had appeared between them, almost without them noticing, and see where it went. 

“You would have me?” Renji asked, voice betraying just the tiniest tremble as he looked at Byakuya in the eye, and tried to convey everything he was and clearly wasn't along that look. 

“For as long as you would allow it,” Byakuya said, almost defensively. He looked down at his wrist, still caught in Renji's hand, and shifted in the grip until his fingers were slightly tangled with Renji's own. “But first and foremost, you are my lieutenant. That, I will not compromise.” He licked his lips. “If you are... agreeable to those terms, then...” 

Renji kissed him again, abrupt and fierce, and Byakuya made a sound deep in his chest as his back pressed against the door. All the while, a little voice in the back of his head pointed out what a terrible idea it was, to dig his fingers into Renji's back and kiss back as much as he could. 

But, as blood roared in his ears, he summarily ignored it altogether. 

“I want to touch you, Taicho,” Renji whispered against his cheek, lips trailing to the edge of his jaw. “Show you how agreeable I am, to those terms.” 

“Not here,” Byakuya had enough presence of mind to say, if only because he was well aware he might never be able to work in his office again, if he allowed it. “Your quarters,” he insisted, even as he inhaled sharply when Renji pressed his body against his, suggestively. “Or the manor,” he added, a touch uncertain, because suddenly the manor seemed miles and miles away. 

“You expect me to walk across the barracks with a straight face?” Renji asked, tentatively playful, as if carefully testing the waters. 

“Consider it training,” Byakuya replied dryly, though Renji thought it was meant to be a joke, and found himself flushing bright scarlet at the realization. Byakuya licked his lips and went on, gently pushing Renji back enough he could breath again. “You must stop giving everything away through your face, Renji.” 

Renji swallowed hard and nodded, pretending his best to not be as terrified as he was. When Byakuya took merely a moment to compose himself and head out the door, Renji followed, face slowly heating up again, as he thought of what awaited him, at the end. 

  


* * *

  


Despite the time he had spent thinking about it and his determination to commit to it, Byakuya did falter a little, when Renji closed the door behind him and they found themselves alone in his room. He'd never been there, before, and he stalled somewhat, running his eyes along the surprisingly tidy space. A rustle of cloth made him look up, and he stared a little, as he watched Renji carefully place his zanpakuto on a rack hanging from the wall. After a moment of consideration, he removed Senbonzakura from his side, and held it out for Renji to take. Somehow that gesture felt more intimate than even the kisses they had shared before, and the slight widening of Renji's eyes let him know he felt the same. 

“So,” Renji began, and then didn't continue, staring at Byakuya like he wasn't entirely sure what to do next, now that the momentum from the office had died off. 

“You wanted to touch,” Byakuya said, shrugging ever so slightly as if to pretend he wasn't terribly unsure about what to do next, and hoping Renji would take the lead. 

Renji took a step forward, biting the inside of his lip. 

“Only if you want me to,” he said, resigned to the fact his face was probably going to melt off at some point, through sheer blushing. 

“I do,” Byakuya admitted quietly. 

“Okay,” Renji said, voice soft, and took a deep breath as he reached out to kiss him again. 

There was an ocean of awkward all around them, that slowly bled away as they found their pace kissing once more. Byakuya found he suddenly didn't know what to do with his hands, so he pressed them against Renji's chest. He sucked in a surprised breath when Renji's fingers tangled with his own and tugged them down to the sash knotted around his waist. Despite his best efforts, the kiss slowed down as he tried to undo it, and he found his fingers clumsy and uncooperative. He felt his face heat up ever so slightly as he looked down and finally coerced the fabric loose, and the feeling only intensified when he looked up and saw the expression on Renji's face. 

“May I?” He asked, hands trailing up Byakuya's arms to rest on his shoulders, fingering the heavy fabric of his haori. 

“Yes,” and Byakuya kissed him as Renji slid it off his shoulders, to keep him from seeing the full extent of the obnoxious blush fighting to settle on the bridge of his nose. “Let me see you,” he demanded, when the kiss ran out of air, tilting his face to press the words against the bold black lines zigzagging along Renji's neck. 

Renji groaned, and as Byakuya basked in the sound, he couldn't for the life of him remember why he'd been so certain this would be a bad idea. 

  


* * *

  


“Would you go with me?” Renji asked, basking in the warmth of Byakuya in his bed and Byakuya's fingers tracing along the tattoos on his side. “To the party?” 

Byakuya's finger stopped along his skin as the grey eyes bore into him with a considering look. They were naked still, but the awkwardness had melted off and refused to come back just yet, and for a moment there, it almost seemed like it was gone for good. 

“To the Eleventh?” Byakuya sounded offended at the mere idea. 

Renji grinned and reached out to press his lips against a collar bone. Byakuya looked significantly less constipated after that. 

“I feel like celebrating,” the redhead said, and added, in an impish tone, “and if you promise not to demolish the place again...” 

“Hn,” Byakuya replied, looking away in what Renji was getting better at recognizing as embarrassment. “Perhaps.” 

“Really?” Renji blinked, not having actually expected Byakuya to agree. 

“Perhaps I too feel like celebrating,” he said, with that prim and proper tone that clashed horribly with his loose hair and the imprint of Renji's mouth at the base of his throat. 

“Mhm,” Renji snickered, shifting along to lay more of his weight on him and delighting in the way Byakuya's breathing hitched ever so slightly. “Problem is,” he went on, resting his cheek on a shoulder, “it's kinda bad form, to show up naked.” 

“It's the Eleventh,” Byakuya said dryly, “I'm not entirely sure there exists such a thing as _bad form_ , in the Eleventh.” 

Renji laughed, and as Byakuya basked in the sound and even joined in with a very quiet chuckle of his own, he found everything was alright with the world. 

  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided in the end to keep the smut out of the main fic, but will probably upload a one-shot more fleshed out later this weekend.


	14. Growing Pains.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji's training under Byakuya's supervision begins. Renji is forced to reevaluate his definition of "training from Hell" and his Captain's infuriatingly thoughtful, yet positively sadistic side. Also, Zaraki being Zaraki, and Shinji breaking some kind of record, about how long one takes to regret becoming a Captain in the Gotei 13.

  


* * *

  


XIV. Growing Pains. 

  


* * *

  


“Your greatest flaw has always been your strength.” 

Renji startled a little at the proclamation, eyes narrowing in defiance, but merely tilted his head slightly sideways and waited for Byakuya to continue. They were standing in the training field behind the main building of the Sixth's complex, early enough the sky was still dark. The night shift had gathered by the sidelines, nervously watching as their Captain and lieutenant took their places across one another. But, they noticed with relief that was so obvious Renji almost found it distracting, neither of them seemed to be angry, so perhaps it was just training after all. 

Hopefully. 

“Rather than improve your technique and address your shortcomings,” Byakuya went on, pinning Renji down with a disapproving look, “your first instinct has always been to grow _stronger_ , so much so your strength will be enough to overpower your foes, regardless of their superior skill. That might very well work while fighting hollows, and perhaps Arrancar, who more often than not fight like animals, but once you face a proper Captain level enemy, you will realize it is skill, rather than sheer power that will determine the outcome of a battle.” Byakuya offered the tiniest smirk, which made Renji tense and clutch Zabimaru with tight knuckles. “So we will work on the basics, first,” Byakuya went on, suddenly standing behind Renji. 

Renji felt a strange sense of déjà vu, recalling his fateful fight against Byakuya, but this time, before he could slash at him and keep him away, he felt the painful burn in his chest as the flow of his spiritual energy knotted up beneath his sternum. The sudden, incapacitating pain drove him to his knees. 

“What _the fuck_ is wrong with you?” Renji snapped, clutching at his chest but unable to find the dreadful wound. 

“It is not true Senka,” Byakuya reassured him, as if that somehow made the sudden heaviness of Renji's limbs or the burning pressure in his chest any better. “It will wear off in a few hours, but by then I expect you will have learned a thing or two.” 

Legitimately angry, Renji threw a slash with Zabimaru, though the motion was torpid at best as his connection with his zanpakuto seemed dampened by the seal on his powers and he had a feeling he just didn't have enough spirit pressure at the moment to even release it. 

“Your skill with a sealed zanpakuto was not enough,” Byakuya went on, blocking the blow with ease before throwing one of his own that Renji knew he should have been strong enough to block and yet pushed him back like he was little more than a rag doll. “So you learned shikai to make up for it. Your mastery of your shikai was too poor to attain what you desired, so you unlocked Bankai. But so long as you treat your shikai and Bankai as a crutch to compensate for your own weakness, your strength will remain meaningless.” 

Renji panted, trying to ignore the pulse of white hot pain in his chest, and took his stance. Byakuya arched one eyebrow, looking pointedly at the slight trembling of Zabimaru's tip. It only made Renji bare his teeth and stubbornly force his hands to remain steady. Further infuriated by the fact Byakuya seemed to be waiting for him to strike first, Renji launched himself at him, already deeply hating the way his limbs felt heavy and sluggish. He was not surprised when Byakuya blocked the first blow nonchalantly, either. Nonetheless, he kept pushing, loathing the way he could see the openings that Byakuya was blatantly leaving for him, but that in his current state he was physically unable to take advantage of. 

“You're very quiet this morning, Renji,” Byakuya observed, expression a perfectly carved mask of boredom as he held Senbonzakura in front of him, holding back Zabimaru's edge as if Renji wasn't trying at all. 

“Got nothing polite to say just yet, _sir_ ,” Renji bit back, then jumped back to gain more momentum in his next strike. 

He caught sight of the tiniest smirk tugging at Byakuya's mouth, however, and that very nearly set his blood on fire as he realized that the absolute dickhead was enjoying the whole thing. The realization did absolutely nothing for his spiritual pressure or his current skill, but it certainly amplified his enthusiasm. After all, futility was something Renji was very familiar with. 

“Truly, Renji,” Byakuya went on, sidestepping a blow and stopping his counterattack less than an inch away from Renji's throat, “you must really work on keeping your temper in check.” 

“Kindly requesting you shut your fucking mouth, sir,” Renji hissed, knocking Senbonzakura away and turning to give Byakuya a dark glare. “I'm trying very hard not to say something untoward, here.” 

Renji made a show of taking a deep breath and reminding himself this was just a training exercise. Granted, training exercise that put Urahara to shame, but still. Byakuya arched a single, slender eyebrow and Renji's grip on Zabimaru turned white-knuckled. 

“Should I be in awe of your self-control, as well as your swordsmanship?” 

Renji's temper snapped. 

“I said shut _up_ , you goddamn _bastard_ , I'm going to _kill_ you!” 

Their night shift audience, which by then they had both completely forgotten about, suddenly found somewhere else they had to be at, all at once. 

  


* * *

  


As the sun began to paint the sky in reds and yellows, Byakuya slid Senbonzakura back into its sheath. It was still an hour to the shift change, which he considered sufficient time for Renji to pull himself together and avoid making a spectacle of himself in front of the Division. After all, while Byakuya knew well the rigorous training was not going to be easy on Renji, he didn't exactly aim to humiliate his lieutenant in the process. Well, at least not publicly. 

“That should be all for this morning,” Byakuya observed, walking over to where Renji was lying on his back, panting like he'd run four marathons in a row. 

He snorted when all Renji did was raise a hand and offer a very obscene gesture in reply. 

“You wanted to be trained,” Byakuya muttered as he went to kneel by his side. “So you will be trained.” 

Renji opened his eyes just in time to see Byakuya's right hand hovering over him, but before he could vocalize any sort of protest, the pressure in his chest suddenly dissolved at once and it took him a moment to get his spiritual pressure in check when it slammed back into him at once. Then he groaned, pressing a hand to his face, as every inch of his body ached in retaliation. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said, as the pain washed out eventually, and he found he could breathe normally again. “Requesting permission to call you an unmitigated asshole, sir?” 

“Denied,” Byakuya replied in a bored tone as he rolled back to his feet gracefully. “Come along, now.” 

“Do I _have_ to?” Renji whined, even as he stood up and began following after his Captain's brisk steps. 

“Only if you do not wish to spend the entire day lying in bed feeling miserable for yourself,” Byakuya commented, giving him a sideways look. “I will not tolerate any slacking off, Abarai-fukutaicho.” 

“Greatest. Fucking. _Asshole_.” Renji muttered, well aware Byakuya could hear him. “In all of goddamn recorded history, even.” 

“You wanted to be trained,” Byakuya insisted, and Renji realized they were standing in front of the Captain quarters. 

Given that Byakuya preferred to stay in his family's home, rather than the barracks, the rooms set aside for the Captain of the Sixth went mostly unused. Still, Renji wondered warily what Byakuya had in mind, as the exhaustion from their morning spar – well, okay, of his pathetic attempts to score one decent hit and Byakuya's irritatingly deadpan commentary about his inability to do so – settled in deep. 

“Take off your clothes,” Byakuya ordered, walking past the outer office towards the bedroom proper and the private bathroom attached to it. 

Renji spluttered. 

“Oi, if you think-” 

“You will feel better,” Byakuya went on, ignoring Renji's growl, “after you take a bath. I simply assumed you would prefer at least some semblance of privacy to do so.” 

“Fine,” Renji sighed, shoulders slumping as he began to jerkily get himself out of his clothes, “still an asshole though!” 

Byakuya watched him for a moment, before he offered one of his not-shrugs and left Renji to wash himself as the tub filled in with nice, hot water. Renji absolutely did not want to admit it, considering the rotten mood he was in, but a hot soak sounded like just the thing he needed to get him through the day. 

The worst of it, beyond the absolute ass kicking that had been delivered to him in a silver platter, was the fact he couldn't exactly argue with his Captain's assessment of his fighting abilities. He _was_ strong, and he'd always objectively worked on becoming _stronger_ , whenever he was confronted by an obstacle he couldn't fight on even ground. He'd learned new techniques and tricks along the way, but he'd never focused on those themselves; rather they were a side effect of coming to grips with his growing strength. He was always training to make himself more resilient, able to withstand enough punishment to find an opening and retaliate. It was, he realized, the polar opposite of how Byakuya fought. And yes, he was aware he had neglected bits and pieces of his skill set – kido, for one, seemed to be the kind of thing he was never going to master, no matter how much he tried, so he stopped trying altogether – for the sake of focusing his energy on things he could demonstrably improve, but Byakuya didn't have to rub it _in_. 

God, he was such a magnificent dickhead that Renji could barely stand it. 

He scrubbed his hair and his skin furiously, washing out the grime and sweat that had gathered on it during the couple hours he spent bouncing around the training grounds, at times literally. Then he poured water on himself to rinse off, and found he felt... well, not better, but at least a bit less furious about the whole thing. By the time he sank into the hot water, Renji found himself wondering how Byakuya had come up with such a horrific training exercise. It was effective, sure – Renji had learned at least two moves to bridge his sword slashes better in a chain of connected attacks, instead of simply swinging it around like it meant something – and the theory behind it was sound, but holy shit did it put the notion of training from hell into a new perspective. 

As he slid a bit further down, Renji tilted his head back against the rim of the tub and tried to imagine Byakuya going through the same training at some point. He didn't know why, but he found the thought comforting. Spite, probably, Renji thought, melting into the water as his eyes slid shut. 

Spite was a wondrous thing. 

  


* * *

  


Twenty minutes later, Byakuya cleared his throat. 

“Renji.” 

He opened his eyes at the sound of his name, startled to realize he'd fallen asleep. He found Byakuya standing by the side of the tub, holding a towel and frowning at him. 

“What?” Renji asked defensively, his nearly forgotten bad mood coming back with a vengeance as the thought he was going to be scolded, on top of everything else. 

“You did very well this morning,” Byakuya said, “all things considered.” 

Renji stood up abruptly, splashing somewhat as he stepped out of the tub. 

“Don't do that,” he sulked, glaring a little even as he took the towel and wrapped himself with it. 

“Do what, precisely?” Byakuya asked, watching with hooded eyes as Renji dried himself viciously. 

“Give me empty pleasantries,” the redhead snapped, eyes narrowed. “I know I fucking sucked, okay. You drove the point home spectacularly.” 

“I do not give empty pleasantries,” Byakuya said, and offered a mild snort. “And you are a shinigami, of course you performed poorly on your first fight without access to your reiryoku. Frankly, I am sincerely impressed that you could stand.” Before Renji could snarl something in retort, Byakuya scoffed very softly. “I spent the first hour of my training trying to remain upright.” 

Well then, Renji thought sourly. The bath had done wonders for his anger, deflating it entirely until it was just the root frustration gnawing in his gut, and while he still remained convinced his own assessment of his Captain was correct – Kuchiki Byakuya was many things, but a colossal asshole was the one he excelled at most when he put his mind to it – Renji found himself sighing as he let go of said frustration. 

He had, after all, asked to be trained. And there was that bit of spiteful satisfaction in knowing at least Byakuya knew first hand exactly what Renji was going through. 

“You are _such_ a fucking asshole,” Renji said, almost affectionately, letting the towel rest on his shoulders as he reached out to hold Byakuya's face and tilt it upwards, “it's really not cute at all.” 

Byakuya opened his mouth to retort that being cute had never and would never be a goal in his life, but then Renji was kissing him and he figured he must be feeling much better already. 

“Come,” he said, breaking off the kiss after a moment, before it completely sidetracked his train of thought, “there is one last thing to do, before breakfast.” 

Renji flushed brightly as his stomach perked up, loudly, at the premise of food. 

“Not a word!” He said, trying to cling to his anger – quickly evaporating all together – and his pride – beaten up to a pulp – as he clutched the towel with all the dignity he could muster and glared awkwardly at Byakuya. 

Being the unrepentant, massive asshole that he was, Byakuya merely offered another not-quite-shrug and said precisely nothing. Renji could tell he was laughing at him, though, just by the way his eyes glinted. It was very infuriating. Even so, he followed him out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where Byakuya seemed to have laid out another towel on top of the bedding and motioned Renji to lay on. It said something about him, Renji thought grumpily, that despite the hellish morning he'd endured, he still obeyed his Captain without question. 

“What are you doing?” Renji asked, lying on his chest and resting his chin on his folded arms as he watched Byakuya pull tiny crystal marbles from a bowl. He gave him a bit of a dark look. “Or is it meant to be a surprise, too?” 

“You needed to be angry the first time I used that technique,” Byakuya sighed as he gathered his own reiryoku and the marbles ate it up, growing up in size. “And you needed to remain angry for as long as possible, while under its influence that first time.” He gave Renji a look that was hard to describe, before he took one of the marbles and placed it on Renji's back. The soothing effect was immediate and it made Renji moan as he found himself melting bonelessly under it. “I have come to realize that you only truly ever get angry at me when I refuse to explain myself properly.” 

“That's 'cause you're dickish as fuck, when you do that,” Renji slurred under his breath, finding it hard to keep his eyes open as more marbles were placed around his back. “So,” Renji went on, ignoring Byakuya's fond snort at his reaction, “can you actually tell me what this training is about now?” 

“The technique is called Houriki, a lesser form of Senka that blocks rather than sever the flow of reiryoku in a shinigami. In its original form, it serves as a non-lethal detention technique used by the Onmitsukidou, but my master found a... shall we say, didactic application?” Byakuya snorted under his breath. “As shinigami, it is natural to rely on our spiritual pressure to assist during a fight, but such a reliance on it will often create flaws that go unacknowledged, since one tends to compensate for them, rather than address them properly.” He gave Renji a thoughtful look, hesitating for a moment before going on. “You use your strength to compensate for your lack of refined skills, I had my speed. I did not need to be strong, you see, if I was too fast to hit or be stopped.” 

But sometimes he simply hadn't been fast enough, Byakuya did not say, remembering more than one time he'd found himself taken down in one hit due to his lack of endurance. He sighed again. 

“Relearning how to fight, from the very basics, is an effective way to break out of that bad habit. It is not particularly pleasant, I will grant you that, but the benefits outweigh the inconveniences, in the long run.” He frowned a little, as he realized Renji's various tattoos aligned surprisingly well with the pattern he knew the marbles had to go in. Perhaps he would ask Renji about it, later on. “There is also another technique I wish you to learn, once you have fine-tuned your control over your reiryoku enough, that will allow you to near extinguish your spiritual pressure at will. It normally takes decades to master it, but Houriki training makes it much easier to learn, once you become accustomed to the sensation of your reiryoku being suppressed. This,” he said, as he placed another marble on Renji's spine, “will help your body get used to the transition and prevent long term damage over it.” 

Renji made another thoughtful sound, but said nothing else, basking in the surprisingly soothing sensation spreading out from his back into every nerve along his body. He found he did not feel nearly as exhausted as he would have expected, and realized he should have no issue at all, looking after his duties despite the strenuousness of his training. He sighed in exasperation at his Captain's need to be absolutely fucking perfect about everything he ever did, and berated himself for even doubting for a moment every bit of his training hadn't been painstakingly thought out. 

Half an hour later, the marbles on Renji's skin had shrunken back to their original size, and so Byakuya plucked them away, one by one. He blinked when Renji rolled onto his side, reaching with a hand to tug him down at the same time he raised up. The kiss was surprisingly languid, so Byakuya broke away from it after a short moment, lest he got carried away. 

“You know it's really infuriating when you decide to be thoughtful and shit,” Renji said, eyes half lidded in a way that made Byakuya reconsider his reluctance to get carried away. “Makes it really hard to stay righteously pissed at you.” 

Byakuya opened his mouth to deliver an appropriate deadpan reply, but his expression froze instead and he closed his eyes, looking almost resigned. 

Renji was about to ask what was going on when he felt it, the telltale, choking spiritual pressure that settled upon the Sixth like physical weight. And then the door was kicked open, and Zaraki Kenpachi was there, sword on his shoulder and murderous expression on his face. 

Renji made a sound not unlike a gerbil dying and scrambled to cover himself up with the towel, acutely aware of how incriminating the scene had to look. 

“Yo, Kuchiki-hime,” the Captain of the Eleventh boomed, as he stomped into the room, ignoring Renji altogether. “The fuck you think you're doing, standing me up like that?” 

“We agreed to reschedule,” Byakuya replied, voice icy with annoyance. “Twice. And then I sent you a note, yesterday, reminding you of the fact.” 

Zaraki gave him a long, thoughtful look. 

“Did you?” 

“Yes,” Byakuya insisted, closing his eyes as if to keep his temper in check, “I did.” 

Renji tried very, very hard to pretend he didn't exist, as the silence stretched awkwardly all around him. 

“Oh, that's right,” Zaraki said after a moment, “you said you wanted your mornings to beat the stupid out of your lieutenant.” But then Zaraki grinned at Renji, who made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and wondered if he was going to die horribly as Zaraki lowered his zanpakuto, as if preparing to strike. “Seems you're done now, though.” 

“No,” Byakuya said coldly, standing up, “I am not.” 

Renji winced when Senbonzakura blocked Zaraki's unnamed blade and the shock-waves made the entire building shake. 

“Ya sure?” Zaraki asked, leaning in to leer right in Byakuya's face. 

“ _Very_ sure.” 

For an eternal moment, Renji thought Zaraki was going to attack anyway. And then he stepped back, rolling his eye. 

“Che,” he said, lowering his sword, “never pegged you as the sort to let your dick do the thinking.” 

The temperature in the room dropped forty degrees all of a sudden. Zaraki laughed as Byakuya launched on the offensive, eyes all but burning with rage. Renji buried his face in his hands as they demolished their way out into a courtyard and hopefully away from the main complex. 

“Well, _fuck it_.” 

Breakfast was going to have to wait. 

  


* * *

  


“Abarai-fukutaicho?” 

Renji looked up from his depressingly barricade-like, paperwork laden desk to find Hotaru, his 3rd seat, poking her head into the office with an expression that could be best described as wry. 

“Is it on fire?” He asked, deadpan. 

Hotaru blinked. 

“What?” 

“Are you here because something is on fire?” Renji asked again, and then sighed. “Because unless there's something on fire or an Arrancar invasion force is literally at our doorstep, I honestly don't care.” 

“Charming, isn't he?” Shinji said, patting Hotaru's head as he walked past her into the office. 

Hotaru's eyes widened in a way Renji would have found hilarious, if he had the emotional fortitude for it, more so when the redhead snorted. 

“Oh go away,” he said, groaning, “I'm having a piss poor day.” 

“ _You_ 're having a piss poor day?” Shinji snorted, expression unamused. “What do you think _I'm_ having? Three days in office, Renji, _three_ , and I have to file for extensive repairs already.” 

Renji stared. 

“What, why?” 

Shinji gave him the driest, coldest look he'd ever seen on anyone who wasn't Kuchiki Byakuya. 

“Because where do you think your psycho of a Captain and that... monstrosity you lot call Kenpachi decided to have a little bit of a spar, after they left here?” 

Renji gave up. He didn't care it wasn't even noon yet. He groaned in despair and let his head fall into the desk. 

Shinji failed to feel sympathetic at all. 

  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless plug, but if you missed it, the missing scene from last chapter is now available [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7241884), for all your awkward smut needs.


	15. Discretion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year's approaches and with it, the entirety of the Kuchiki Clan drops for a visit. Renji is not sure he will survive it. Byakuya will make sure he does.

  


* * *

  


XV. Discretion. 

  


* * *

  


On the fourteenth day since his Houriki training had begun, Renji found his routine broken and himself kneeling in the Kuchiki manor gardens, Zabimaru resting on his knees, as he tried his damn hardest to sink into the right mindset to meditate into his inner world. 

On the upside, this meant he was not getting his ass handed back to him by Byakuya and having his entire career as a swordsman questioned and audited with a metaphorical toothbrush. 

On the downside, with New Year's barely days away, the veritable army of servants in the manor were scrambling frantically all over the place, trying to get everything sorted out to the prerequisite perfection, considering the entirety of the clan was coming to visit. Basically, they were loud and nervous and every time Renji found himself about to sink into the labyrinth of shoji doors that Zabimaru inhabited, something or someone would break his concentration and drag him back to consciousness. 

He'd tried moving around the garden, at first. Clearly, he was the stranger and he felt a little bad for the staff, being in the way. They had to deal with an entire contingent of Kuchiki nobles, after all. Renji dealt with two and some days it was more than enough to make him question his sanity. He loved Rukia, of course, in a shapeless, encompassing way that was never above taunting the ever loving shit out of her whenever she got uppity. And he respected and admired Byakuya like no one else, not so grudgingly taking note of his criticisms, vicious and unrelenting as they could be, because most of the time, he had a point. 

Renji didn't want to think about an entire manor full of nobles and their neurotic need to prove themselves better than everyone else around them. 

But still. 

Two hours. 

He'd been at it two hours and he still hadn't been allowed more than two minutes of peace and quiet to properly enter his inner world. And the fact Zabimaru was all but purring with amusement that echoed each time he got almost there but not quite; well, that wasn't helping, either. 

And then a very familiar someone prodded him in the back of the head with a foot. 

“And what are _you_ doing?” 

Renji gave up and let out a frustrated, wordless noise, before he turned around and gave Rukia a dark glare. 

“What does it _look_ like I'm doing?” He snapped, rolling onto his feet to properly loom over her. 

As predicted, her eyes narrowed as she pursed her lips. There was one thing that Kuchiki Rukia was never going to forgive him for, and that was the fact he was so much taller than her. 

“This is you,” Rukia snorted, “so something stupid, most likely.” 

“Ha, ha,” Renji deadpanned, “so funny!” 

“Do you really think so, Abarai-fukutaicho-donno?” She asked, melting seamlessly into the girlish lady act just as a pack of servants ran past them. “Such a charmer you are.” 

“Don't you have anyone else to annoy?” Renji retorted, heaving a loud sigh as he tried to ignore the crawling sensation of several dozen eyes pinning him in place. 

After all, she was the sister of the manor's Lord and he was... well, the tattooed thug that served said Lord. Renji steadily tried to not think about the sheer number of underwear that knotted itself up and down in outrage every second he continued to exist within the walls of the manor. 

“An entire Division, really,” Rukia admitted easily, and then reached out to poke him in the chest with one bony finger, completely oblivious to the fact the eyes on them seemed to multiply exponentially at the fact. “But none of them get flustered as easily as you.” She smirked at him, sly. “New Year's will be particularly fun, with you here.” 

Renji stared at her like she had spontaneously grown a second head, mind reeling. Him? Take part in the New Year's celebrations? At the Kuchiki manor? _What?_

And then his thoughts settled, in unison: Oh, hell _no_. 

“Excuse me,” Renji said a little strangled, and didn't break down running towards Byakuya's study, only because it was probably illegal to run inside the Kuchiki manor or something. 

Rukia watched him go, steps long and slightly twitchy, and resisted the urge to laugh. 

  


* * *

  


“Why _the hell_ does your sister I'm going to spend New Year's _here_?” 

Renji flushed when he realized Byakuya was not alone in his study and thus his banging the door open was not, perhaps, the most polite thing to do. It wasn't his fault he was used to the rules in the barracks, where the office door was never closed and Renji could burst in at any given point to demand answers to whatever deranged thing Byakuya had done during his spars with Zaraki. 

That one had kind of become routine, by now, because even if the property damage wasn't as spectacular as it could be, there was always someone with a problem about it. Just the day prior, Renji remembered grumpily, Kurotsuchi Mayuri had stormed into his barracks, demanding Byakuya's head on a spike because apparently the sheer concentration of reiatsu coming off from the Eleventh had messed up some delicate readings and ruined days' worth of experiments. 

As it was, Renji held onto his outrage and weathered the scathing look from the young man sitting in front of Byakuya's desk. 

Byakuya, as expected, did not react to the outburst at all, merely waving off his companion. Who bowed so deeply his forehead touched the floor and then walked out of the room with more grace than Renji was ever going to muster in an entire lifetime. 

“Because you are my lieutenant,” Byakuya said, after taking a sip of his tea and looking thoroughly unruffled about the whole affair. “Traditionally, you and your family are welcome to attend the celebration, as part of my household.” 

“Oh,” Renji said, deflating a little. 

That was... a lot less terrifying than the idea that Byakuya would just randomly invite him along to celebrate the holiday with his family. 

Not that he was against it in theory... no, no he was terribly against it in theory or in practice, because Byakuya's family terrified him, in theory or in practice. But he didn't know what he'd do, about that kind of thing. Their thing was shapeless and nameless and comfortable. It was all about the freedom to lean in and steal a kiss every now and then, and Byakuya spending most - but not all - of the night with him in his quarters, rather than heading straight back to his manor at the end of the day. It was all about Renji polishing off the absolute best of his worst puns until Byakuya's lip twitched in his personal equivalent of a cackle, and then argue fiercely about not bankrupting the entire Division over repair fees. 

It was relaxed and uncomplicated and Renji _liked_ it that way. 

Being invited to family functions and acknowledged in public was just... not something that would ever happen, and as such Renji purposely kept it out of his mind. After all, Byakuya was still Kuchiki Byakuya, and Renji's only claim to him was and would always be as his lieutenant. 

And honestly, he was okay with that. It was more than he had ever even expected he could have and he would defend their status quo to the death, no matter the cost. 

“Do you have other plans?” Byakuya asked him, eyes all but pinning him in place as a tiny frown settled on his face. 

Renji's New Year's plans have been the same, every year since he served in the Eleventh: start drinking on the 30th and wake up at some point on the 4th. He had, in fact, been invited along to continue the tradition by Ikkaku and Yumichika, even if he was no longer part of the Division. 

“Not really,” Renji admitted, shrugging a little as he walked over to Byakuya's desk, to sit on the edge out of habit. He offered a wry smile. “But do you really want _me_ to come? You sure your family isn't gonna break over in hives and rashes at the thought?” 

“Whatever their feelings are, they would not dare to insult you under my own roof,” Byakuya said, tone icy and eyes narrowing dangerously. “Nor is there any reason for them to scorn you.” 

Renji was slightly taken aback by such vehemence. So he did what he always did, whenever he felt taken aback by something Byakuya said: he made a joke about it. 

“C'mon,” he said, chuckling as he waved a hand dismissively, “Inuzuri thug staying under the roof of one of the Great Noble families? Someone's ought to have a stroke, or something.” 

Renji expected Byakuya to chide him, like he always did. He did not expect hands to grab his face and pull him down resolutely, so that he could be kissed. It wasn't a chaste kiss, either. It was the kind with teeth and tongue that so far he'd only gotten in the privacy of his own quarters, and for a moment it distracted him enough he almost forgot they weren't there. More so when Byakuya tugged him closer and Renji spilled into his lap rather willingly. 

“Excuse me,” said a voice from the door, and Renji froze in place. 

“Enter,” Byakuya said, without skipping a beat. 

Then the door slid open and Renji pulled away so fast he lost his balance and fell off into the floor, face flushed with sheer mortification. It was an elderly servant, too, carrying a tray of tea. Renji panicked heartily and pretended very hard he didn't exist at all. 

“Namie,” Byakuya said, as if kissing his lieutenant in his office was something he did every day – which technically he did, but only in his office back at the Sixth, never in his freaking manor and with his servants walking in on them, “See that breakfast is served here, my lieutenant will accompany me.” 

Renji made a strangled noise, bracing for... something. 

“Of course, my Lord,” was all the woman said, though, bowing politely and walking away without looking back. 

“What the hell was that?” Renji hissed, finally picking himself up the floor and then snarling a bit, when Byakuya made to tug him back, intending to continue the interrupted kiss. 

He grabbed his wrist and shook it a little, when he didn't receive an answer right away. 

“Tea?” Byakuya offered, tone bland. 

Renji glared. 

“You know exactly what I mean.” 

“These are not the barracks, Renji,” Byakuya sighed and twisted his hand free of Renji's hold. “There are forty-nine full time members of the staff and they make it their business to be everywhere, all the time, unseen.” He arched an eyebrow. “There are no such thing as secrets, here. However,” he added, offering one of those sliver-of-a-smile that never failed to make Renji's insides twitch a little, “there is discretion. I cannot very well hold a meeting detailing my decision to spend some if not all my nights in your company.” Renji's face got, if possible, redder. “They cannot accommodate for what they do not know, after all.” 

Because he was an absolute bastard and he knew exactly how to melt his brain into a puddle of insensate goo, Byakuya tugged on Renji's hand and pressed his mouth to his knuckles. Renji swallowed hard. 

“You really want me here,” he said, voice low and expression oddly vulnerable. “Not just for New Year's.” 

“Yes,” Byakuya said, unwavering. “Is that a problem?” 

Other than the fact that I'm terrified at the prospect? No, not at all, Renji most certainly did not say. Instead, very deliberately, he leaned in and kissed Byakuya in that slow, taunting way he liked best. 

“This is going to be a disaster,” Renji said, against his lips, “and I want you to know I plan on holding you accountable for it.” 

Byakuya shrugged ever so slightly. 

“You can do so to your heart's content, but I would prefer to have breakfast first.” 

  


* * *

  


“Something is bothering you,” Byakuya said, watching as Renji curled up against his side and resting his head in his hand to give himself a better view. 

Renji didn't immediately deny it, only making a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat as he tried to find a comfortable spot to sleep. His quarters in the barracks weren't terribly shabby, considering he was a lieutenant after all. But Byakuya's room in the manor was just... obscene in a way that made Renji's skin crawl when he took two seconds from admiring all the beautiful exquisite things on display and thought about what they were worth. Or what they might mean. Or how little he compared to them. 

But it wasn't that, for once, that had his brain running in circles somewhat. 

“It is not my place,” he said after a moment, and when he felt a hand gently tugging at his hair, he added, a little grumpily, “and I know that I don't usually give a fuck if it's my place or not to say stuff, but even I know better than to say anything about the Clan.” 

“Surely at this point,” Byakuya replied, after a small, thoughtful pause, “you have to realize I have moved past the point of simply murdering you for speaking out of turn.” 

Despite it all, Renji snorted. 

“See, that would be funny if it weren't patently true,” he said, and then shifted so he could look up and gauge the shift in Byakuya's face. “The thing is, I read about the Kuchiki Clan, in the Academy. You're one of the Great Noble families, founders and keepers of Seireitei and all that. You can't go a decade without doing something or another that changes the course of history and stuff.” 

“But?” Byakuya asked, tilting his head to the side as his fingers carded through Renji's hair. 

“But there's so _few_ of you,” Renji said, frowning. “I mean, your family alone controls a third of the wealth in Soul Society and there's entire districts were you can't go two steps without running into your crest emblazoned somewhere. But you're what? Thirty people?” 

“Twenty-seven,” Byakuya corrected, “not counting Rukia and myself, yes.” 

Renji had sat at Byakuya's right all afternoon, welcoming the Kuchiki Clan entourages as the various members returned to their Ancestral home for the holidays. And yes, the display of wealth had been breathtaking, considering the literal armies of servants and retainers that came with each of them. But at the core, the Kuchiki themselves had been... underwhelming in person. Renji wasn't really sure what he'd expected, but the men and women that came forth to bow to Byakuya and offer gifts were not quite it. Most of them were old, too. Really, really old. They were all regal and carried themselves with an inordinate amount of pride and arrogance, sure. But Renji had expected hundreds of them, considering how far and wide their influence spread. He had expected young heirs and marriageable-aged girls, and children. 

Instead it was a parade of wary, solemn faces with gray eyes seemingly under siege by the same melancholy that would occasionally make him stop working and just go kiss Byakuya for the sake of scaring it away. Renji saw that shadow wander across Byakuya's face and reached out to kiss him on reflex. 

“Inuzuri thug, remember?” He said, trying to sweep the entire conversation under a metaphorical rug. “What do I know, right? All I learned about this kind of thing was from books, and even then, I probably got it wrong or something.” 

Byakuya shook his head. 

“The Kuchiki Clan remains right now the largest of the Great Noble families,” he said, before Renji could work himself into a self-deprecating whirlpool of inadequacy. Renji stared at him, unable to keep the surprise out of his face. “But you are not wrong. Two hundred years ago, it was because we numbered in the thousands. Nowadays we depend on hired men to manage our own fortunes, and even so, more and more die, each year, and less and less are born into our household. We will all go the way of the Shiba, soon enough.” He offered a wry smile. “But even so, we will be the last to do so.” 

Renji stared. 

“But _why?_ ” 

To go from thousands – and he was sure it was not hyperbole on Byakuya's part – to a couple dozen in barely two centuries was mind-boggling. One of Renji's favorite things, after joining the Academy, had been the access to history. He liked history, to read about the chain of events that had eventually culminated into the way things were done now, and to sort of puzzle why. Inuzuri had had no history. Inuzuri had always been Inuzuri, lawless and ruthless, where nothing happened for a reason. Coming to the Seireitei and finding out there _was_ a reason for most things, moreover, one that was chronicled carefully and kept for the sake of remembrance, was one of the most amazing things Renji had experienced in his life. 

And yet, in all he had read – and he had read a lot, trying to fill in the yawning abyss of ignorance that only fed to his insecurities about fitting in – he had never read anything about something so crucial as a massacre of the Noble families. Because a massacre was the only thing that made sense. A plague would not have spared commoners to focus solely on nobility. 

“Because we made a choice to put our trust in one man,” Byakuya said, cryptically. “We opened ourselves to him, but he proved himself unworthy in the end. We uplifted him into our family, because one of our own loved him, and surely having proven he had earned that love with virtues and talents, rather than trickery, he could very well _be_ one of us. And we learned to love him, despite the accident of his birth, because he worked so hard to blend in and honor our traditions and learn our laws.” Byakuya sneered, though Renji thought, given the ice in his tone, that he would have much rather snarl. “And then he betrayed us and those closest and dearest to us, and when the ashes settled down on everything we had ever been and now lay in shambles at our feet, we learned a soul cannot be taught to be something it is not.” 

“Oh,” Renji said, feeling cold all of a sudden, and then sat up, pulling away from Byakuya's side to stare at his hands and figure out the best way to excuse himself and start running, hopefully to never stop. 

“Renji.” When he didn't turn back, Byakuya sat up as well, resting a hand on his shoulder as he leaned in closer. “ _Renji_.” 

“I should go,” Renji whispered, something painful and awkward caught in his throat. “I-” 

Byakuya leaned in, pressing his forehead to Renji's shoulder as he did, hiding away his face. 

“I told you no one here has any reason to scorn you, did I not?” Renji made a small, wounded noise in the back of his throat and bowed his head, unsure of how to reply. “A noble soul needs not be taught how to be noble, it simply is. I wish you would remember that, in the future.” 

“I'm not-” 

“You are,” Byakuya said, in a fierce tone that booked no objections and made Renji shiver. “You simply have a habit of forgetting it. It is hardly endearing.” 

“But I'm _not_ , okay? I'm just...” Renji snapped, trying to pull away and fling himself out of the bed, only Byakuya grabbed his arm, and pulled him back sharply and with enough force that he yelped in surprise. 

Renji spluttered a little as he caught himself with his other hand, just barely stopping from sprawling on top of his Captain, who gave him a bland, unimpressed look for his antics. Even though, that tiny, cynical voice in Renji's head that he almost universally ignored, pointed out it had been Byakuya's antics, not his own. He whimpered a little, when long arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. It was a nice kiss, too, just a smidgen rough around the edges, with that hint of teeth that Renji had become addicted to from day one. 

“Stop being nice to me,” Renji muttered against his lips, “I'm going to fuck this up horribly and you're going to regret it.” 

“The only thing I will regret,” Byakuya said quietly, pulling Renji down to rest his forehead on his shoulder again, “is not getting enough sleep. But I am sure I can survive it, nonetheless.” 

Renji wasn't so sure, but he found Byakuya's fingers in his hair once more and realized that burst of adrenaline had simply done away with all his energy. So he laid there in silence, and tried to imagine what life after Byakuya would be like, once the inevitable came to pass. 

  


* * *

  



	16. Brothers and Sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji, Rukia and Byakuya deal with the Kuchiki extended family in their own ways. Another Arrancar attack, however, brings back some ghosts from Byakuya's past.

  


* * *

  


XVI. Brothers and Sisters. 

  


* * *

  


It wasn't, objectively, as bad as Renji had feared it would be, _hanging out_ with Byakuya's family, for lack of better wording. 

They were, after all, unflinchingly polite, if terribly stuck up. And they didn't really have a reason not be polite to him, to the point of almost being pleasant, considering they were not aware of what terribly amazing things he'd been doing to their Head of Clan. To them, he could tell, he was a curiosity, but if nothing else, they respected Byakuya's judgment in allowing him his rank and simply assumed he had earned it. 

Which he had, Renji reminded himself, every time his own self-consciousness threatened to spin out of control. 

He was just an unusual meeting that might in time turn into an anecdote, no one of importance. He had expected to be more annoyed about that treatment, but all he felt was relief that no one made a scene about his presence and his very clear lack of... breeding. 

The secret, Renji found, was to imagine Unohana-taicho standing behind whoever he was speaking with, and near instantly he was polishing the best of his manners under the implicit threat of gory dismemberment. Rukia eyed him from time to time, whenever he chose to go hide with her as conversations around Byakuya tended to go down the rabbit hole of business and politics and things that made Renji's eyes glaze a little. 

Unfortunately, hiding behind Rukia often involved getting dragged into games and trying very hard not to get carried away by such games. After all, it would be terribly impolite to skin hapless Kuchiki nobles bare, just because they'd never learned to play cards or mahjong _for keeps_. They played to give their hands something to do while they talked, apparently, and to have an excuse to shuffle about the various rooms. Renji thought that was a little weird, but said nothing because he knew better. 

“Were you part of a gang, Abarai-fukutaicho?” Asked Lady Kaede Kuchiki, Byakuya's great aunt, thrice removed. 

Renji kinda liked Lady Kaede, if only because she felt thoroughly entitled, as the eldest member of the Clan, to dispense with roundabouts and word games passing off as tact, and say exactly what was on her mind. It was very refreshing, and thoroughly amusing, Renji thought privately, as everyone around her looked vaguely constipated every five minutes or so, before they carried on as if she had not said anything outrageous at all. And it was fair, Renji went on, spitefully, in the privacy of his mind, that he wasn't the only one feeling wholly uncomfortable about everything ever, for once. 

“Not officially, no, ma'am,” Renji replied, shrugging. “I did follow a very fearsome boss when I was a kid,” he went on, very purposefully not looking at his right, where Rukia was seated, nursing a nice, hot cup of tea. “But she was hardly what you would call a thug, for all she was very strong and short-tempered.” 

Renji felt Rukia's reiatsu shift as she tried very hard not to show she had choked on her tea, and smiled innocently at Lady Kaede. 

“You served under a woman in a gang?” Lord Yamato Kuchiki, Byakuya's sixth cousin – Renji hadn't even known there was such a thing as a sixth cousin – interrupted, looking surprised. 

“I'm afraid in the Rukongai strength has no gender, my Lord,” Renji went on, ignoring the wickedly strong and pointy fingers currently pinching his leg, as Rukia laughed girlishly at some joke or another. “The Gotei 13 is much the same. Strength comes in all shapes and sizes, and not realizing that can kill you. Like, a lot.” 

“Oh, ignore him,” Lady Kaede said, waving a hand dismissively, “he's still living four centuries in the past and forever bitter his sister was better at business than he was at swords. I'm much more curious how you came to choose your tattoos then, if not for a gang.” 

Renji thought about how to best refuse to answer the question without insulting her as he found himself instantly less amused by her antics. Damn Kuchiki nobles, he thought grumpily, and their need to stick their stuck up noses everywhere they didn't belong. 

“I made a promise,” he said, eventually coming up with a suitable combination of truth and vagueness. “They remind me of the fact.” 

“I've always found them terribly romantic, tattoos,” went on Lady Kaede, pursing her lips into a tiny wry smirk that Renji usually associated with Byakuya about to wantonly massacre some hapless moron. “Alas, they are rarely made for such romantic reasons.” 

Renji wasn't sure how to answer that. He was saved having to, however, as he heard his name in Byakuya's quiet voice. 

“Excuse me, my Captain needs me,” he said politely, before stepping away from the mahjong table and scurrying away to where Byakuya was waiting. “Taicho?” 

“Something has happened,” Byakuya said cryptically, just loud enough the group he'd disentangled from could hear him, “I must have a word with you, immediately.” 

Renji tensed for a split second, but then registered the fact Byakuya's shoulders were nowhere near as tense as they should be. He resisted the urge to laugh and give his Captain a knowing look, instead nodding seriously and playing along. 

“Of course, Taicho,” he added, in his best official tone. 

Byakuya started walking and did not look back. 

  


* * *

  


Rukia laughed at the right moment and in the right pitch as she continued to entertain the gathering to the best of her abilities and wondered how exactly was she expected not to figure out what Renji was doing with her brother – to her brother, possibly? She wasn't wholly sure she wanted to contemplate it in depth – when they kept vanishing off to do whatever it was they did – that she did not think about in detail at all, because she liked sleeping and also being able to look at her brother in the face every now and then – without the smallest bit of subtlety. 

Of course she didn't expect Byakuya to say anything; he'd said enough, while Renji was missing, and Rukia felt speaking more on the subject might make her brother ill with embarrassment. 

But Renji could damn well be a man and come clean about it. 

It was her brother, for crying out loud. 

Though she supposed it was bound to be awkward, considering their conversation, after the charges against her had formally been dropped. She hadn't meant to be cruel, had in fact attempted to be as kind about it as she could be, even though softness had never been part of their friendship before. But there were only so many ways to cushion a rejection, and in the end that had been exactly what she had done. 

To Renji's credit, he had taken it well. She suspected he had been well aware he would be rejected, but if so, the fact he said anything at all, just for the sake of keeping the air clean between them, spoke greatly about him. They had buried their past together, his feelings for her along with it, and shook hands as they promised to begin anew, with a clean slate. 

Then there had been the war, and they had fought together and bled together, and ultimately won together, alongside everyone else. 

And somehow, along the way, as Rukia mourned for another dear friend for whom her feelings refused to be explained, Renji had somehow made the impossible happen in her absence. Renji had made her brother love him – and Rukia knew her brother _loved_ him, had seen the wreck Byakuya had become when Renji had been missing; Rukia was not _blind_. 

Rukia saw her brother ever mindful of the man walking at his right, whose council he heeded even when it was hardly polite. She saw her brother vault over the manor walls, well into the evening, heading back to his barracks when no one would notice. She saw her brother stare at the distance beyond the gardens and the walls, while his tea cooled in his cup and his eyes betrayed many circling thoughts. 

Rukia knew her brother loved Renji. And she knew her brother was sly and cunning and stubborn, and he would get what he wanted and keep it for as long as he wanted it, more so since it seemed Renji wanted it too. 

But she was nonetheless annoyed that Renji, who did not have shackles of propriety binding his behavior and demanding he kept an impeccable public image, would be so much of a coward as to not come forth and tell her the truth. What did the big oaf think she was going to do, other that offer obligatory congratulations and perhaps a passing warning to not hurt her brother's feelings because really, he had been hurt enough already and deserved to have something _nice_ for once? 

Rukia was so busy fuming internally about Renji's lack of a spine and being jealous at the fact her brother got to walk away from the family reunion, even for a few minutes, that she missed a crucial step in the conversation. 

“Oh, I've known him all my life, really,” she said, on the subject of Renji and what she thought him. “I know he looks intimidating, but he is honestly one of the bravest, most loyal people I know. Sometimes he's even kind.” 

Gray eyes gleamed all around her. 

“So you find him _acceptable_ then?” Asked Lady Yuura Kuchiki, Byakuya's father's cousin twice removed, who had made Rukia's life miserable for the first five years after she'd been adopted, before realizing Byakuya was not going to revoke her claim to the family name and had then promptly switched to try and run Rukia's life for her at every chance she got since, instead. 

Oh, Rukia thought, realizing she'd spoken out of turn, _fuck_. 

  


* * *

  


“Don't you know it's bad luck to work before the third?” Renji teased as he broke the kiss he'd been locked in, the moment the door closed behind them. 

Byakuya looked up at him with stormy eyes and his mouth pulled into an unamused line. 

“You would consider _this_ work,” he said, voice flat. 

Renji rolled his eyes but didn't make a smart ass remark if only because Byakuya seemed genuinely on the last strand of his patience. So instead he grabbed his face between his hands and kissed him until he kissed back. And then some more, still, until by the time he pulled away there was the vaguest hint of red on Byakuya's face and his eyes had stopped looking murderous. 

“Marriage again?” Renji asked instead, resisting the urge to snicker. 

“Marriage,” Byakuya agreed, with a venomous tone one would use to speak of something dangerous and possibly damning. “Does it seem to you that I _want_ to get married?” 

Renji pulled him into his arms, even if Byakuya made a sound of protest, and leaned in to whisper in his ear exactly what it seemed to him that Byakuya wanted. 

“ _Renji_.” 

“See,” he teased, unrepentant, “I notice that you didn't say no.” 

Byakuya closed his eyes, exasperated, but didn't actually say no. 

  


* * *

  


“I have made a terrible mistake,” Rukia said, as soon as Byakuya opened the door. “A terrible, terrible mistake.” 

It was well past midnight and all souls occupying the manor had long gone to bed. Byakuya himself had answered the soft knock on his door only because he had felt Rukia's presence on the other side, and only Rukia would be enough to make him crawl out of warm covers and Renji's arm around his waist. Even then, as Byakuya stared down at her with a frown, Renji remained in his bed, quietly snoring in deep sleep. 

Byakuya stepped back silently, allowing Rukia to slip into the room, because whatever she had done was best discussed away from corridors. 

Corridors always had ears, in the manor, but with so many entourages from his relatives populating the manor at the moment, Byakuya did not trust all of them. 

“Should I order tea to be prepared?” Byakuya asked, herding her away from the bed and the mop of red hair plainly visible on it, towards a low table on the other side of the room. 

Rukia, of course, said nothing of it, if she saw it, for which Byakuya loved her all the more. 

“Nii-sama,” she hissed instead, looking at him desperately, and said, in a tone that implied tea would never be strong enough to handle the news: “they want me to marry _Renji_.” 

Byakuya's face froze over into a mask of perpetual indifference. 

“Do _you_ wish to marry Renji?” He asked, in the same tone one would ask about the weather. 

“ _Of course_ not,” Rukia looked vaguely horrified at the idea. “I was trying to paint a... positive picture of him. I know they don't hate him, but I wanted to reinforce the good impression. Point out some of his less obvious virtues.” She buried her face into her hands. “Oh, Nii-sama, I am so _sorry_.” 

Byakuya was quiet for a moment, contemplating how the situation could unfold in the future, and also trying to puzzle out the best response possible. He settled on a soft, almost wry sigh, in the end. Because despite it all, the fact Rukia had come straight to him about it, to warn him of the impending disaster and to sit with him in the dark, in the same room as Renji slept in his bed... it was a testament of that closeness he'd sworn to sow between them. 

“At the very least,” he said, a tiny, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips, “this means they have finally given up the hope I would marry you.” 

Rukia's head snapped up to stare at him incredulously. 

“ _What_.” 

Byakuya offered a slightly wider smirk. 

“It was a very... insistent suggestion, after you were adopted into the family.” Rukia wondered if it would be impolite to voice exactly how much she would prefer that didn't happen at all, but Byakuya saved her the trouble by shrugging. “Ultimately, threats of marriage to people you would most certainly not want to marry are part and parcel of being who we are. You will simply learn to ignore them in the long run, or even better, to outsmart those who make them so they are fostered onto someone else.” 

“Somehow,” Rukia said quietly, as close to her usual deadpan as she would allow herself to aim at her own brother, “I do not quite see how I could foster this particular threat onto someone who would want it.” She gave him a pointed look, and Byakuya almost laughed at the outrageous notion. Almost, but not quite. Rukia sighed, her shoulders slumping somewhat at the prospect of facing that legion of knowing, gleaming gray eyes and the horrible ideas she'd accidentally put in their heads. “I should go. I just wanted you to not be greeted at breakfast with such news.” 

“I appreciate the gesture,” Byakuya said sincerely, for it allowed him a few hours to scheme and prepare a proper way out for her, or to at the very least stall the conversation into not happening at all. 

Despite Rukia's words, they remained where they were, sitting in silence for a while longer. It occurred to Rukia, as it had to Byakuya before, that this was a first, between them. They had grown closer, certainly, in the aftermath of the war. Between Ichigo's fate and Renji's sudden disappearance, they had found solace on no one else but each other. They spoke little, still, but the words always carried great meaning. And she felt now, as she hadn't for forty long years, that she had truly become his sister just as he had truly become her brother. 

“I am very glad,” Rukia said, breaking the silence, “that you found me.” 

Byakuya looked at her with slight surprise on his face. She had never said such a thing, before. She had always been grateful for his patronage, of course, as decency demanded it. She was demure and proper when she had to. But her wording struck a chord in Byakuya, the emphasis that _he_ personally found her. 

“I have never felt more glad, myself,” he replied, in a quiet, solemn voice, but he was not thinking of the day he saw Hisana's ghost beating up cadets in the Academy. 

He thought of Rukia bound in kido, pointing her own zanpakuto at her throat, and the bottomless pit of rage that ignited in his gut as a result, illuminating, as it did, a thousand little things he had not known he hoarded in his soul. He had found Rukia in the Academy, certainly, but he had found his sister in Hueco Mundo. 

“Arrancar,” Renji yelled from the bed, flinging himself off the bed and scrambling to grab his zanpakuto with his eyes still closed as he shattered the moment. “Shinji!” He hissed, more asleep that awake, and then stumbled outside without once noticing his audience. 

Less than a second later, there was a scream from across the manor and they felt the upsetting yet familiar shift in spiritual pressure that preluded an Arrancar attack. 

The moment thoroughly destroyed, then, they too rushed towards the source of the commotion. 

  


* * *

  


Renji was wide awake when he released his shikai. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd made his way from Byakuya's ludicrously comfortable bed to one of the outer gardens, but he decided it didn't matter as he studied the enemy. It was a small force of only six, but they were Arrancar, and this was Seireitei. Renji saw in their eyes the same empty, single-minded zeal that he remembered from the hordes he'd defeated for Tier Harribel, and resisted the urge to shiver.

Then Byakuya and Rukia were there with him, helping him subdue the invading force, pushing them back and away from the manor and the stupid, suicidal Lords and Ladies who, despite the danger and the cold and the hour, walked into the corridors to witness the fight. 

The six were suddenly five, and something changed in Byakuya's face. 

“Renji,” he said, icy and callous as he always was, when his zanpakuto was in his hand, and Renji understood the implicit order as soon as he vanished, chasing after the missing attacker. 

“You've gotten stronger,” Rukia mused, standing at his side with a small smirk on her face. 

“Wanna see how much?” Renji taunted back as they stepped between the attackers and the manor. 

“By all means, Abarai-fukutaicho-donno,” she teased, temperature dropping even further around her released zanpakuto. “Teach me your ways.” 

Renji snorted, but led the charge, nonetheless. 

  


* * *

  


“You're late.” 

Byakuya sheathed his sword and glared at the source of the voice, paying no mind to the Arrancar crumbling at his feet. His glare died, however, when he approached the woman tugging at the cloth wrapped around her head and pressing it against the long gash across the chest of a man lying on the ground. He was unconscious, Byakuya noticed, but not dead. 

Which was a good thing, all things considered, as otherwise Byakuya himself would be as well. 

“Shiba Kuukaku,” he said, voice void of all emotion. 

“Piss off, Kuchiki,” Kuukaku snarled at him, as the cloth in her hand soaked with blood. Then her eyes narrowed, and he remembered, as in a dream, that she had been fearsome, once. “Unless you're here to finish what you started, all those months ago.” 

“He was trying to kill my sister,” Byakuya snapped, even as he knelt next to the boy – he looked like a man, alright, but knowing who he was, Byakuya could not think of him as anything other than a boy, and he knew his sister felt the same. “Surely, you understand the reaction.” 

“The same sister you were going to let them burn to a cinder?” Kuukaku taunted, but let him inspect the wound when he leaned closer. 

Byakuya seemed satisfied that while the wound looked painful, it wasn't life threatening. His hand remained on the bloodied cloth, however, next to but not actually touching hers. He seemed to be weighing his words carefully, so Kuukaku allowed him the courtesy of choosing the best way to put his foot down his throat. 

Such was the way of Kuchiki Byakuya, and she doubted the decades they'd been apart had changed that at all. 

In the end he didn't disappoint. 

“I would have expected you to know better,” he said finally, looking at her in the eye, “the ruthless nature of Kuchiki justice.” 

Kuukaku stared at him and his blank expression for perhaps three seconds. Then she curled her hand into a tight fist and smashed it with all her not inconsiderable might straight into his face. 

He could have dodged it; she had always been stronger, but his speed and reflexes had always remained uncontested. 

Instead, there was a satisfying crunch of bones beneath her fist and his head didn't so much turn with the force of her knuckles slamming into his cheekbone, as it hit the ground with enough momentum to leave a crater behind. Byakuya coughed as he picked himself up, spitting out blood and quite possibly a molar, and stubbornly ignored the gutwrenching throbbing of his entire face. 

“Satisfied?” He asked, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. 

“It's a start,” Kuukaku admitted, shaking her wrist. 

“Then let us go,” Byakuya ordered, rolling back to his feet and carrying the already massive bruise blooming on half his face with dignity that Kuukaku found personally offensive. 

“Go?” She asked, eyes narrowed, wondering if she had perhaps not hit him hard enough. 

“Back to the manor,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and only then she realized he was not wearing the thrice damn kenseikan, but rather a surprisingly plain, silk yukata and his hair loose around his shoulders. Before she could decide to even out the damage done to his face, he went on, offering a small shrug. “You are being targeted, as we are. You will be safer there.” 

“Under your protection?” Kuukaku sneered, crouching protectively next her still unconscious brother, like a viper curled around her nest. 

“Yes,” Byakuya replied, impassive. 

“I lost an arm, if you recall,” she bit out, waving her stump tauntingly as she did, “last time I was under your protection.” 

She startled, nonetheless, when his face melted from that insufferable mask of propriety, to a ghost of the boy she'd known once. Perhaps, she thought a little dazed, she had hit him too hard, after all. 

“I lost my betrothed and my best friend, myself,” he admitted, sounding very old, and yet so very young, she almost forgot how long it'd been since they had last spoken, or why. “Surely we have lost all we could already.” 

“Swear on it,” Kuukaku pressed, refusing to be swayed by the wave of nostalgia. “Swear on the Dead Branch's Bloom, that no harm will come to my brother or my servants.” 

A look of surprise crossed Byakuya's face, before he frowned and eventually nodded. 

“On the Dead Branch's Bloom, and the Willow's Grave,” he said, pretending he did not notice her eyes widening at the added oath, “as Head of the Kuchiki clan, I extend solace and hospitality to the Head of the Shiba clan and her household, that no harm or ill intent shall touch them under my watch.” 

The silence held for a long while, as they stared at each other and felt the weight of their forefathers' legacy on their shoulders. Finally, she sighed. 

“One of these days,” Kuukaku said, rolling back to her feet, “I'm going to stop finding you endearing, Kuchiki Byakuya. And do you know what's gonna happen then?” She kicked her brother's side, hard enough to jolt him back to consciousness, but positively gentle-like, considering her strength. “I'm going to murder you.” 

As Ganju sat up with a pained noise, looking groggily around, Byakuya said nothing and merely inclined his head in acknowledgment. 

After all, with the history writhing and hissing between them, there truly was nothing to be said. 

  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...you didn't think I was done exploring all the delightfully fucked up bits about Byakuya's family tree, did you?


	17. History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which history, personal and otherwise, becomes an issue.

  


* * *

  


XVII. History. 

  


* * *

  


There was a deep, damning silence, as Byakuya and Kuukaku walked side by side along the path across the grounds towards the manor, just as the sun began to paint the horizon. 

Renji watched them, and the group of servants helping the injured Ganju along, with narrowed eyes. The entire left side of Byakuya's face was a bruise. But despite the lack of proper clothes or ornamentation, there was a certain solemn air around them, a dignity that need not be overstated to be true. Rukia watched the proceedings by Renji's right, her face pale after no sleep and a night full of whispers and nervous shifting from the rest of the Clan. They had been angry, to see their Head leave them behind, and the fact Renji and Rukia had swiftly and decisively dealt with the enemy had only made them feel marginally better. 

There were ripples of unease palpable all around, and many wary, gray eyes fixed intently on the last remnants of the forsaken Noble house, and all of Rukia's careful cajoling all night went to waste, as a deep, seething fury settled bone-deep in more than one face. 

Most of them, in fact. 

“Lady Shiba,” Byakuya said, as he came to a stop before them, knowing he would have to address the matter immediately, even if he would much rather crawl into bed and hide there with Renji for the next few weeks, “and her people have suffered an attack similar to that we did. I have offered her shelter and protection, until this affair is properly settled, and she has been gracious and wise to accept it.” His eyes narrowed, just a sliver. “I need not remind you, I am sure, what that means, but I must nonetheless inform you that both the Dead Branch's Bloom and the Willow's Grave are witness to my vow. They are my honored guests, and I expect you to treat them as such.” Servants scurried all at once, to set up accommodations and see to it that everything was ready as soon as possible. Byakuya ignored them. “I will council with my sister and my lieutenant on the repercussions of this night and what must be done next.” His voice shifted slightly, becoming just a sliver warier. “I cannot, of course, force any of you to stay. But before you cross the threshold, be aware I cannot protect you, once you step beyond it.” 

He climbed up the steps, and the crowd parted for him as he left Kuukaku and her entourage to be taken care of by the servants. Renji and Rukia walked after him without needing to be told to and followed in silence as he returned to his quarters, rather than his study. 

Byakuya wished he could simply lay down and pretend the entire night had not happened at all, but as it was often the case, what he wanted and what he needed to do were not the same. 

Rukia decided to give them a moment to gather themselves, and instead went to request supplies to patch her brother up. 

“ _What the fuck happened to your face?_ ” Renji demanded, following Byakuya as he sat by the table. 

“Not so loud,” Byakuya replied, and did not protest when Renji tilted his head up and very gently pushed his hair away. “Please.” He closed his eyes for a second, allowing himself to wallow on the pain for a moment, rather than simply ignore it as he always did. He opened them and offered Renji a tiny wry smile. “I misspoke. Lady Shiba felt inclined to point it out.” When Byakuya saw the look on Renji's eyes, however, he rolled his own. “ _I cut off her arm_ , Renji, she is entitled to the occasional broken bone.” 

“Why would you-” Renji began, but then cut himself off and closed his eyes. He shook his head. “You know what? Fuck it, I don't want to know. I mean, I probably do but this doesn't seem the right time for that. You look like shit.” 

“I'm perfectly fine,” Byakuya muttered, though he did not protest when Renji tugged him closer and allowed him to rest his forehead on his shoulder. 

“You looked better after the battle in Hueco Mundo,” Renji argued back, but he admitted to himself that was probably because Byakuya's face was starting to swell somewhat. 

“The battle in Hueco Mundo did not involve Shiba Kuukaku,” Byakuya said dryly, though Renji was startled to find there was a ghost of amusement in his tone. “Soul Society should be glad for that.” 

Renji had one of those bizarre moments where he realized the words coming out of Byakuya's mouth could have very well come out of Zaraki's, and shook his head a little. 

“What's going on?” He asked, instead, fingering Byakuya's hair as he tried to puzzle it out himself. 

“I have a terrible suspicion, but no proof to back it. I would like to dismiss the possibility, if at all possible,” Byakuya answered, closing his eyes again as he organized his thoughts and forced himself to simply ignore the throbbing in his skull. Talking was painful, so his jaw was likely fractured, but as he had told Renji, what were a couple broken bones, compared to an arm? “I will need you to head out in my stead and do what needs doing and speak with whomever needs speaking to. I cannot leave the manor unattended at the moment.” 

“It's okay. Told you, didn't I?” Renji grinned, looking down at him and leaning in to brush his lips against his forehead. “You order, I obey. That's how it works, right?” 

Byakuya made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat, and then he sighed. When he opened his eyes, Renji felt instantly weird about holding him in his arms, because that was the look of his Captain, not his lover, and it felt almost disrespectful, all of a sudden. 

“Seek audience with the Captain Commander, as soon as dawn breaks.” Renji's shoulders squared, as he soaked up his orders and focused all his attention on Byakuya's voice. “Tell him everything that happened here, and tell him the Shiba are sheltering with us for the moment. After you receive your orders, if any, see that the Sixth is on alert and dispatch patrols around our districts. The holidays are nearly over and the streets are filled with the drunken merry that could easily become the drunken dead when faced with a larger force attack. We must prepare to minimize casualties, should that be the case.” 

Byakuya paused a moment, considering as he shifted the chess pieces in his head and tried to predict where they would go, in light of the new attacks. The Captain Commander had probably expected the Arrancar threat to be done with, after Renji's stay in Hueco Mundo, but it was hard to say with him. There were also the other noble houses to take into account, as well, though he doubted any of them had any idea of the potential threat, save perhaps the Shihouin, and that was only because they always seem to know everything. His fellow Captains, on the other hand, he felt reasonably comfortable he could predict accurately. 

“Send a butterfly to the Second,” Byakuya went on, as the picture became crisp and clear in his mind, “and tell Sui-Feng that I want one of our seated officers, whomever you trust best, to accompany the team inspecting the integrity of the outer wall. Go there yourself and explain in tiny words that it is not a request, if she refuses. Send someone else... no, send a butterfly as well to Kurotsuchi and ask him if he would like to be present during the inspection of the Root and if so, to meet us here at the manor this evening. He'll know what that means,” Byakuya paused, considering as his lips thinned. “And then go to the Fourth, before coming back, and request Unohana-taicho to provide a healer to accompany you. Make it clear it is a personal favor, rather than official business. I expect Lady Shiba will only grow more insufferable, the longer her brother takes to heal.” 

Renji nodded. 

“Anything else?” 

“Don't get yourself killed stupidly,” Byakuya said in a bland, almost teasing tone, “this day is shaping up to be frustrating enough without having to add that to the list of things making me want to reconsider my stance on wanton, pointless destruction of private and public property.” 

And just like that, Renji marveled, it was okay for him to have Byakuya in his arms again. So he leaned in and kissed him, trying his best to be mindful of the bruise. 

“And we all know how strict and controlled that stance is,” Renji deadpanned, grinning a little even as Byakuya bit down on his lower lip. “I write the paperwork whenever you destroy something that needs to actually be paid for and replaced. Don't give me that bullshit, I am Kuchiki Byakuya and can do no wrong look.” 

“Hn,” Byakuya said, eloquently, as he let go of Renji's mouth and shifted in his seat until his back was resting on Renji's side and he could comfortably hide most of his face with his loose hair. 

He was sulking. He didn't care, he felt entitled to it. That Renji pulled him close and rested his chin against the crown of his head was not making him want to stop either. 

“Will you be alright?” Renji asked, quietly, wrapping an arm around Byakuya and letting his hand find his. 

“I'll survive it,” Byakuya sighed as he tangled their fingers together, and then, added, knowing full well it was a lie but hiding it behind an unflappable deadpan: “I have survived worse.” 

Renji couldn't possibly understand the magnitude of the Shiba's presence in the manor, after all. He didn't know the bloodstained history that led to them being cast out of Seireitei, nor that it had been the very Kuchiki prowling the manor at the moment who had demanded it. Renji didn't need to know, either. He fully expected to spend the entirety of the day being yelled at by elderly relatives and enforcing his place as Head of the Clan over and over again, lest someone got it into their heads to circumvent the rules of hospitality. He did not look forward to it, not one bit, and despaired somewhat, at such a bleak start for the year. 

Fortunately – for Byakuya, at least – Rukia chose that moment to come back, and Renji flushed so much as he scrambled to pull away and pretend he hadn't been cuddling with his Captain that he completely missed his chance to comment. 

It was for the best, probably. 

  


* * *

  


Rukia was well acquainted with the other three Great Noble families. 

She was the only unmarried Kuchiki woman in the entire world, after all. That she wasn't Kuchiki by blood had never seemed to bother anyone other than the Kuchiki themselves. She had the name, she was recognized by the Head of the Clan, and so since her first formal introduction to what Byakuya dryly – and now that she knew how to recognize it for what it was, snarkily – called polite society, she had been at the receiving end of pleasantries and gifts from said families. The Shihouin not as overtly, probably because she was known to associate with their errant, previous Head, and no one was quite sure what the political ramifications of that really were, except that it couldn't possibly end up in anything other than disaster. 

But the Furusawa and the Sugimoto, who had always kept themselves concerned on strictly civil matters and never allowed themselves to get dragged into the sprawling, casually controlled spiral of political drama that the Shiba, the Kuchiki and the Shihouin had been engaging on for the past half century; _they_ didn't see anything wrong with trying to woo her over. Their members were rarely allowed into the Gotei 13 and its chaotic, paradoxically disorganized hierarchy where nobles and street-rats could easily raise to share the same rank. They were merchants and land owners, Lords and Ladies who existed solely to rule and scheme and play a game of power and influence that never had a clear victor. 

The venerable members of her Clan would be rather happy to see her married to Renji, who was, in their eyes, her equal. She would lose their prestigious name and sink back into obscurity, never again to remind them of the catastrophic chain of events that had culminated with the Shiba's fall from grace, and her brother marrying her sister and defying everything they had ever stood for. But the Sugimoto and the Furusawa had played no part in that mess, and saw no reason why not rope the proud Lord of the Kuchiki Clan into filial obligations, while having a convenient way out, should their plan not work out. 

They treated her like a curiosity, but one that was valuable and desirable despite it all, and for nearly half a century, Rukia had found a certain enjoyment in watching them try to corner her into a marriage proposal only to back down at the last moment with a subtle reminder that she was, after all, a shinigami first, a lady second. 

But still, she was the last unmarried Kuchiki lady, and the temptation sprung up, like clockwork, and the game started, all over again. A game of her own doing, that had taught her all she needed to know to survive the status that had been thrust upon her, all those years ago, when Byakuya had found her. 

So she was quite surprised, to say the least, when she delivered her brother's letter to the reigning Lord of the Furusawa Clan, and had been coldly escorted out of their manor not five minutes after he finished reading it. 

The Sugimoto had at least taken the time to read the letter at twice, before politely demanding she removed herself from the grounds, or they would remove her themselves. 

It was rather odd. 

Still, her brother had entrusted her an errand and she had, in her own way, completed it. She headed out to her barracks to report back to her Captain and make sure she was not needed – she was never needed, as far as Ukitake-taicho was concerned, and Rukia admired and respected him enough she wasn't as bitter about that as she felt she could be – before heading back to the manor and report the results. 

Besides, that gave her brother more time to sort himself and his house out, which he was sure to appreciate. It wasn't like she was avoiding her responsibilities to the family. She was just a shinigami first, a lady second. 

A shinigami that had graduated with top marks in strategy at the Academy, too. 

  


* * *

  


A heavy jug was placed on the desk, but Byakuya studiously refused to look up. 

The swelling had lessened considerably after he had been seen to by a healer and though the ghost of a bruise remained, painting the skin of half his face in faint blue and purple, it wasn't quite as spectacular as it could have been. Truth be told, he had been fully prepared to endure it for as long as the Shiba remained under his roof, if only to offer a metaphorical peace offering to the volatile Head of their Clan. But of course his own Clan had been outraged enough and he simply wasn't in the mood to further aggravate the situation out of pettiness. 

“Drink with me,” Kuukaku said, didn't ask, going to perch herself on a corner of the desk. “For old time's sake.” 

“That would be a phenomenally bad idea,” Byakuya replied, keeping his attention on the sheet of paper in front of him. He closed his eyes to hold his temper as she reached out to snatch it, before crumpling it up into a little ball and throwing it away. He glared frostily at her. “Kuukaku.” 

“Drink with me,” she insisted, leaning in with that same wide smirk she'd always worn, before dragging him down into outrageous trouble. Her eyes, however, were a lot less bright than he remembered. “And I might just forgive you.” 

Byakuya stared at her for a moment and was oddly surprised to find the pang of regret strangely muted. She was an entire life he'd never had, would never have. She was a life without Hisana or Rukia or Renji, filled instead with the shapeless glimmer of destiny unfulfilled. There was bitterness – he was convinced there would never not be bitterness, about this one thing – and a certain lingering sadness for that life she represented that he and she and they would never have. But it hurt less to stare it in the face, than he had imagined it would. 

He had never seen her again, after the disastrous night that left her without an arm and sparked a feud between their families that was only settled when hers had been cast out of Seireitei entirely. He had known where she was, had gone as far as to find her, but in his greatest moment of weakness, he had not had the strength to actually meet her. He had run, plain and simple, because had not known how to confront the consequences of his actions. 

That running away had eventually led him to Hisana had always seemed to him like a cruel joke. After all, Hisana had made him happy. He had loved her, with all his being, with a passion and abandon he had never felt for his betrothed and which convinced him, as the life he had been groomed for fell to pieces all around him, to do the unthinkable. 

But there had been a time, before Hisana and before that terrible, terrible night that still haunted him when he didn't discipline his thoughts properly, when he'd been sure Kuukaku would have made him happy. They were equals, after all, scions of proud, noble bloodlines and destined to unite them into prosperity. But more importantly, they had been friends. There was no mad, all consuming passion between them, not the like Byakuya had felt for his late wife, or that, at times, was terrified to realize he felt a ghost of for his lieutenant as of late. She had been loud and impertinent and absolutely terrible at being a lady. He had been short-tempered and sulky and dreadfully set on having things his way, always. But they had always known their lives had been preordained for them, their destinies entwined for the greater good of their respective families. And they had decided to face that destiny with friendship, rather than resentment. They had made plans about how to best circumvent each other and make sure they both got what they wanted. 

Above all, they were going to find their own freedom, once they had made their families happy and there was no one left to tell them how to be themselves. 

They had it all planned out, ready to spring into action when the moment came. But the moment never came, and instead there was pain and misery and tragedy all around, and that life they had decided they were going to live happily even if it killed them never happened. 

“Even if you did forgive me,” Byakuya said, gently pushing the jug away, “and let us dispense with the niceties, you will not, because you are many things, Shiba Kuukaku, but forgiving has never been one of them. But let us pretend, even now, that you did forgive me, I will not forgive myself.” 

Byakuya breathed deeply in surprise, when she curled her arm around his neck and pulled him close until he was resting his forehead against her shoulder in a mockery of a hug. 

“I know that, you moron,” she admitted, bowing her head against his, “but someone _has_ to, at this point.” 

Byakuya held very, very still, and said nothing at all. 

  


* * *

  


In Renji's humble opinion, Kurotsuchi Mayuri was the creepiest, weirdest asshole in the whole wide world. This impression had not been helped, in the slightest, by his battle against the almost as creepy, pink haired Espada and his subsequent attitude as Byakuya and Zaraki entertained themselves after dispatching Yammy. 

After a full day running errands for Byakuya, which included visiting the Captain Commander – not one of Renji's favorite pastimes – butting heads with the intimidating Captain of the Second – _definitely_ not one of Renji's favorite people – trying to put some semblance of order in his Division – and deflecting questions about where Byakuya was and why he wasn't there to do it himself – and also an utterly terrifying lunch shared with Unohana-taicho – she insisted – well. Having Kurotsuchi Mayuri along for whatever it was they were going to do wasn't making Renji feel any better. 

That, and he felt the need to _educate_ him. 

“You must feel very special,” he'd said as they followed after Byakuya and Rukia, deep into the Kuchiki manor's grounds, “no one but members of the Noble families are allowed to witness the Roots.” 

Renji had made the mistake of letting his ignorance show in his face, because Mayuri had then made despairing comments about his education and proceeded to explain in detail what the Roots were. Renji was annoyed because while it was fascinating to learn, he would have much rather receive the information from Byakuya, than from the ever-grinning Captain of the Twelfth. 

The Soul King, Mayuri had told him, had not always been a King. Long before Seireitei or the Gotei 13 existed, the Soul King had been simply the Sleeping Hermit. He looked after the balance of souls in his dreams, hidden away in the heart of a great tree at the very center of would one day become Soul Society, trapped in a deep slumber. There was no order, then, no one to organize the souls of the dead as they crossed over from the Human world. The world was barren and wild, and the primordial hollows roamed all realms at their leisure. But the people, left to their own devices, filled up that void by creating a measure of order on their own. They learned how to fight back against the hollows and banded together into clans. They fought each other for centuries, millennia, possibly, until the leader of one of those clans stumbled upon the Sleeping Hermit inside his tree, and he woke him up. 

No one knew what he was told, exactly, but he led his people away from the tree and sought out four other clans. If he had been told who to look for, or if he simply looked for the strongest, no one would ever know. But he made peace with them and brought them back to meet the Hermit, and in turn the Hermit taught them the secret to bring real order to the world. The five Clan Heads used that knowledge to create what would be known as the Seireitei, transforming the tree into the Soul King's throne and elevating it into an entirely different dimension. But the Roots remained, one for each Clan to guard, as anchors that kept Seireitei whole. 

“It's poetic, mythological nonsense of course,” Mayuri concluded, as they approached an old, temple-like structure at the very heart of the Kuchiki grounds. “But the Roots do exist, and their supposed purpose as anchor stones merits scientific curiosity, if anything else by the sheer amount of reishi concentrated around them.” 

Renji thought of many places where Mayuri could stuff his scientific curiosity, but decided, wisely, to name none of them. 

“You are not here to share your opinions on our traditions, Kurotsuchi Mayuri,” Byakuya said, demonstrating he had been listening to the lecture Renji had endured, as he opened the door to the small temple and guided them down a long, winding flight of stairs into a deep cavern down below. 

Because Rukia was smart and cautious and did absolutely not feel like spending the rest of her days floating inside a labeled jar somewhere, she refrained from saying anything. She had even refrained from correcting Mayuri's recounting of the legend, even though part of her itched to. 

“No?” Mayuri asked, grin widening, “you neglected to mention your reasons, when you issued the invitation, Kuchiki Byakuya.” 

“The Roots anchor Seireitei and the barriers that keep us separate from the Soul King's palace,” Byakuya explained, testily, “but they also anchor a seal. I wish you to examine it and verify if it has been weakened.” He stopped at the foot of the stairs, where, behind a softly glowing dome, a single dead tree stood amidst the darkness. Renji noticed a small, white flower, blooming delicately on one of the blackened branches, but as soon as he stepped closer, he felt himself sway in place. It seemed almost like gravity was growing stronger, the closer they got to the Root. “Your expertise precedes you, after all,” Byakuya pointed out, though there was a certain air of irony to his voice. 

Mayuri looked unamused. Rukia, who was also struggling to keep her composure in the face of the strange power surrounding the Root – the Dead Branch's Bloom, Renji realized, feeling rather clever for doing so – kept by Renji's side, watching as Mayuri walked around like nothing was wrong at all and her brother kept an eye on him at all times. She wondered, as she slowly became accostumed to the dense air, if the letters she had delivered had concerned the other Houses' Roots. It would certainly explain why they had been so upset. 

“This is the last anchor still standing,” Mayuri observed after a moment, but when he reached out to actually touch the Root, Byakuya held his wrist and glared at him. Mayuri rolled his eyes. “As Soul Society has yet to collapse, either whoever removed the seal was interested in keeping the Roots intact, or your legends are only that, legends.” 

“Or maybe,” said a low, taunting voice, belonging to the figure standing at the foot of the stairs, “I'm merely saving that for last.” 

  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what do you know, Plot is officially now a thing that is happening!


	18. Of Swords and Swordsmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuya, Renji and Rukia face off the new threat. Mayuri sort of doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of body horror in this chapter, courtesy of Ashisogi Jizo. Sorry about that.

  


* * *

  


XVIII. Of Swords and Swordsmen. 

  


* * *

  


“Subtlety has never been his strong suit, has it?” Mayuri asked no one in particular, as Byakuya responded to the intruder by releasing his shikai non-verbally and showering him – and the stairs – with a flurry of tiny bladed petals. 

Byakuya then leaped out and away into the grounds, chasing after the stranger, with Rukia and Renji in tow. Mayuri took a moment to sigh dramatically, and gave the Root one last considering look before taking after them. 

It wouldn't do, after all, to miss an interesting show. 

It wasn't as interesting as he would have hoped, though the stranger was indeed strange. A tall, emaciated man with shaggy brown hair and white clothes. His fingers were long and spidery, tipped with unusually long nails. But most fascinating at all, more so than the dull-eyed Arrancar at his side, was the... _feel_ of him. The peculiar emptiness in his reiatsu. 

Not that Kuchiki or Abarai or Kuchiki cared to notice, really. They were too busy standing up in formation, preparing to attack without bothering to observe first. It was Mayuri's sincerest belief that a great many things in the world, most disasters and wars chief among them, would simply cease to be, if the people in charge would bother to observe before committing to a course of action. Alas, at the very least, the insistence from those around him to give into mindless stupidity provided him with even more to observe. 

“You must be Kuchiki, to be here,” the stranger said, sneering slightly. “Tell me, is this your blood per chance?” 

He held up an arm with crusted, dried blood in its clawed fingers for them to see. Byakuya, as Mayuri had come to expect, revealed nothing, but he didn't have to. His lieutenant gave everything away with the look of shock and recognition that settled on his features. 

“You can have it back,” the stranger went on, throwing the arm at Byakuya's feet. “I don't need it anymore.” 

“Who are you?” Byakuya demanded, as the stranger smirked. 

“The one who whispers,” he replied, waving a hand in a slow, wide motion, before he pulled it back sharply, as if tearing off something unseen, “and brings freedom to those unfairly enslaved.” 

They felt it, a deep, painful pulse in the very core of their beings as something creaked and came loose. Mayuri watched, eyes very wide, as a pale, shapeless mist rose from his zanpakuto and those of his companions, twirling to where the stranger stood. The mist reshaped, and four... no, five figures stood there before them, standing between them and the still smirking man. 

A tall, masked samurai with long black hair and a helmet crowned by three bladed cherry blossoms. 

A thin, beautiful woman with equally long white hair, dressed in delicate white silks worthy of a princess. 

A muscular woman covered in white fur, with long black stripes decorating her body and bound by a chain around her waist to a small boy with a snake tail and a white robe with a similarly stripped pattern. 

And lastly, a gangly man with wide white eyes and a mop of blue hair the exact same shade as Mayuri's, dressed in a monk's garb. 

“Kill them,” the stranger said, eyes narrowed. 

Three... four of the figures launched themselves into battle all at once, dispersing the group. The samurai went for Byakuya, as the lady went for Rukia and the fur-covered woman and her chained child fell on Renji. But the monk remained where he was, arms hanging loosely at his sides and expression vacant. 

“What are you waiting for?” The stranger urged him, eyes narrowed. “ _Kill him_.” 

Mayuri's expression melted into an amused, smug grin, just as the stranger's shattered, when the monk turned around and summoned an exact copy of the sword hanging from Mayuri's belt to his hand and aimed to lop off the stranger's head with it. 

“What?” The stranger demanded, leaping back as his Arrancar escorts stared stupidly while the monk flailed and shrieked in a painfully high pitched voice, and cut them in half like they were sand. “How-” 

The monk made a gurgling noise in the back of his throat as he dropped the sword to hold his head, and then shrieked as his body contorted painfully. Large pustules appeared on whatever skin was visible as every limb bloated grotesquely, skin stretching taunt to breaking point, and then more. He exploded, not in a shower of gore, but the familiar purple mist that only made Mayuri's grin wider. 

The mist reformed, regaining shape, until a small toddler with yellow skin and enormous, blank eyes appeared in it, wearing a smaller version of the monk's robes. Large, glimmering butterfly wings unfurled at its back as it hovered in place. It let out a shrill, angry sound and fluttered back to where Mayuri stood, circling him before settling on his head, tiny hands holding onto his hair. 

“Honestly,” Mayuri said, clearly entertained by the stranger's increasingly obvious disbelief and the fury buried beneath it, “as if any self-respecting shinigami would be stupid enough to allow his own zanpakuto to be turned against him.” His eyes narrowed. “I find you interesting,” he declared, spreading his arms wide, palms side up as he stepped forward, and the stranger stepped back. “I... _we_ ,” he corrected, as the creature on his head chirped in agreement, “shall have great fun figuring out what _makes_ you interesting, won't we, Ashisogi Jizo?” 

His expression dropped abruptly into a blank mask as his reiatsu roared around him in a sickly red light and his zanpakuto's spirit rose, spreading his shimmery wings wide. 

“ _Bankai_.” 

  


* * *

  


Renji found he wasn't at a big a disadvantage as he would have originally expected, considering he couldn't release his shikai. He was used to fighting with a sealed zanpakuto by then, after weeks of enduring Byakuya's Houriki training, and the added bonus of actually having his spiritual energy at his disposal made him slightly more comfortable than he would have been, otherwise. 

Nonetheless, the situation was bizarre enough. 

“What the fuck _happened_ to you?” Renji asked, dodging a strike from Zabimaru's shikai as he kept his distance from the pair. “You look different.” 

“We _feel_ different,” the little boy admitted, eyes narrowed and a sadistic smile pulling at his lips to reveal tiny, sharp fangs. 

“We feel _powerful_ ,” the woman snapped, eyes gleaming murderously as she leaped at Renji and summoned her sword to her hand. “But you wouldn't know the feeling, would you, Renji?” 

“You sound crazy,” Renji pointed out, dodging again before blocking the whipping blade attack to the best of his ability. “I mean, it's been a really fucking crazy day, yeah. But what the _hell_ , Zabimaru?” 

“We wanted to be strong,” the boy laughed as he spoke, grabbing onto the chain and using it to give the woman's attacks even more momentum. “We want to fight!” 

“We've always wanted to fight, to be strong,” the woman said, pushing with all her strength against Renji, until he skid back somewhat, “but we can't remember why we just... _didn't_.” 

“Maybe, y'know, just a hunch, because you weren't goddamn _crazy_ then?” Renji tried again, trying to make light of the situation because he knew damn well they weren't actually trying to kill him. 

Yet. 

Once more, it was the yet that would probably do him in. Story of his life, that. But still, as long as Zabimaru was just... testing their strength, hitting hard but not serious-fight hard, Renji still had hope he'd be able to talk them out of it. 

They fought like him, the same moves, the same strength. Renji kept looking for differences, for a hint that this was a trick somehow, but deep down, he knew it wasn't. He could feel them, after all, and all he felt was, well, _himself_. Clouded behind a veil of something oozy and creepy that made him want to shiver, but still himself. Whatever it was that weird guy had done, it had put distance between them, but Renji wouldn't be Renji, if he didn't try to cross it and reach Zabimaru somehow. 

  


* * *

  


“The mask is new,” Byakuya pointed out, wry, as he blocked the flurry of strikes with ease. 

“So's the bruise on your throat,” Senbonzakura retorted, a smirk perfectly audible in his tone, “but I do believe you are trying not to think about it, aren't you?” 

Byakuya's eyes narrowed at that, and he pressed against his zanpakuto spirit almost as viciously as he did against Zaraki. Senbonzakura had the potential advantage, of course; he need only release his Bankai and things would get unbearably annoying for Byakuya. But his sword, much like himself, was not one to admit to their love for overkill, not once they had been called out on it. So now he needed to balance the taunting and keep Senbonzakura on edge, focused on trading barbs, but without pressing over into annoyance that would make him cut the fight short, so he could figure out how to snap him out of the trance-like mindset he was stuck in. 

“In point of fact, I am,” Byakuya said, tilting his head back to avoid the tip of a sword aimed at his throat, “Renji will hardly let me live it down, if he deals with Zabimaru before I'm done with you.” 

Senbonzakura leaped back to avoid a slash that would have gutted him, if he hadn't moved. 

“I'm still not sure I should even let you live, period.” 

Byakuya offered a tiny, amused smirk. 

“Indeed?” He asked, and beneath the taunting visage, the gears in his head stuck upon the solution to the problem. “I thought you had your orders.” 

The eyes behind the mask glowed. 

“No one gives _me_ orders,” was the icy retort, as light pink reiatsu howled around Senbonzakura and he dropped the sword to the ground. “ _Bankai_.” 

Byakuya stood still, as the sharp petals flowed past him, demolishing everything in their way in their hurry to get back to where the stranger was fighting Mayuri. The fact they had not harmed him was all he needed to confirm his theory, so when Senbonzakura leaped to abandon their fight, Byakuya felt no remorse to shunpo at his back and skewer him with his own zanpakuto. 

“You-” 

Byakuya offered a one-shoulder shrug. 

“Yell at me later,” he suggested, “it's what Renji does.” 

  


* * *

  


Rukia panted, hands holding onto her zanpakuto with white knuckles. She had tried to release it, but found the familiar flow of power had been... severed, somehow. Something was missing, and her shikai lay out of reach beyond that void inside her soul. The reason, as impossible as it seemed to be, was that the spirit residing in her sword had left it behind, and now stood before her, with her shikai in her hand and a soft, mocking smile that seemed eerily predatory. 

She was going to lose the fight, if she didn't think of something, quickly. 

She could predict the incoming attacks with ease, of course, she knew them all by heart and could tell precisely what each motion preceeded them. But Sode no Shirayuki's strength was beastly, compared to Rukia's own. She felt like the attacks her zanpakuto was commanding were twice or even thrice as strong as any Rukia could use. She was ruthless and unrelenting, and Rukia had fairly early in the fight been reduced to a defensive position, struggling to keep up with the onslaught. 

“You wonder if you deserve me,” Sode no Shirayuki said suddenly, pointing her sword at Rukia and granting her a moment of respite from the constant attacks. “When you are alone and there is no one around to tell you, you are not worthless, you wonder if you deserve me. Yet you have never asked _me_ , if I think you deserve me.” 

Rukia widened her eyes as the ground beneath her feet glowed with the telltale white light. She leaped away, barely avoiding being engulfed by the pillar of ice, and twisted as she landed, blocking an incoming slice that made her hands tremble slightly from the strain. 

“The truth is...” Sode no Shirayuki trailed off, her eyes widening as she turned to the ruins of the Root temple, and saw Mayuri's bankai rear back to strike. “Muramasa-sama!” 

Rukia cursed as she was forced to take a moment to breathe, as her zanpakuto spirit took off, abandoning the fight. Then she swung her sword downwards, as if shaking off the sudden weight dragging her down, and leaped after her. 

  


* * *

  


Mayuri's eyes narrowed as a wall of bladed petals stopped the advance of Ashisogi Jizo's monstrous Bankai. Through the petals and the cloud of poison, he saw the baboon woman and the snake boy leap through the petals to claim the stranger's weakened body and then leap away as the petals disappeared and a blast of ice rushed and smacked his own Bankai in the face.

Mayuri was unamused and fairly unsympathetic when Ashisogi Jizo lunged again but found nothing to bite into, rolling his massive head into the ground as in a tantrum. 

“That's enough,” Mayuri said, scowling as he released Bankai and the monstrous shape popped into bright red light that condensed back into the winged toddler from before. “They're gone for now.” Ashisogi Jizo chirred sulkily but went back to his previous perch atop Mayuri's headdress. Mayuri tilted his head back and sideways, to the three figures standing atop the ruins of the temple, which he might or might not have trampled all over with his Bankai a moment ago. “Failed to regain control of your zanpakuto, haven't we?” 

“Renji,” Byakuya said, glaring murder down at Mayuri and refusing to back down from the sudden stare war, “prepare a report, we must inform the Captain Commander of what has happened here.” 

“Yes, Taicho,” Renji said, standing at attention. 

“You know more about this than you're letting on, Kuchiki Byakuya,” Mayuri snarled, eyes narrowing in contempt, “and I expect to hear it all, in detail, soon enough.” 

The corner of Byakuya's mouth twitched upward, into a sneering smirk that made Mayuri's expression darken with unadulterated fury. 

“You do not _command_ me, Kurotsuchi Mayuri.” 

Renji felt sweat sliding down the back of his neck, as he barely resisted the urge to bury his face into his hands. Rukia, on the other hand, unused to seeing the side of her brother that enjoyed taunting people into tantrums and fights, blinked somewhat. 

“That could be easily corrected, Kuchiki Byakuya,” Mayuri snapped back, tightening his hold onto his zanpakuto's handle as Ashisogi Jizo chirred inquisitively. 

Renji knew that glimmer in Byakuya's eye. He wished he didn't, but he did. He felt a pulse of annoyance because this was definitely not the fucking time for another cock size contest between his Captain and the world, but clearly Byakuya did not agree. 

Renji closed his eyes and braced for murder, praying to any god that was willing to listen, that something – _anything_ – could interrupt before Mayuri and Byakuya decided to fight out their annoyance at each other. Unlike his fights with Zaraki, which Renji deeply disapproved of still, because _he_ had to sort out the aftermath of them, and who had to be paid for it and how to balance their budget to make sure all expenses were covered... Renji was damn sure that if Mayuri and Byakuya ever got into it, it was not going to be a spar. 

And they were not going to stop until someone dropped dead, either. 

They were always too politely vicious with one another, and Renji wasn't in a hurry to see them take off the metaphorical gloves. 

“I-” but that was as far as Byakuya got, as he was interrupted by the arrival of a hell butterfly that nearly flew into his face. 

One from the Sixth, then, Renji thought a bit hysterically, as it delivered its missive. 

“Well?” Mayuri, who had not received one, demanded, “what is it now?” 

Byakuya kept his expression blank. 

“The Captain Commander is missing.” 

  


* * *

  


Two very old men sat in the fog-covered ruins of a grand estate, staring intently at the fire that was slowly and steadily bringing water to a boil, so they could share some tea. 

“Exile suits you, my friend,” one of them said, after a moment. 

The other snorted, but it was a quiet and dignified snort, the kind that preluded a thorough verbal annihilation of someone's character in ten words or less. 

“Everything suits me, at this point,” he said instead, sighing. “It's what honor demands.” Grey eyes peered at the fire thoughtfully. “How fares my grandson?” 

The first man leaned his weight on his cane and tilted his head up to look at the stars with a thoughtful look on his face. 

“He is your grandson,” he concluded after the silence had stretched wide around them, “through and through.” 

Kuchiki Ginrei shook his head and pulled the water away from the fire, sitting seiza as he began sorting out the tea. 

“That is a hardly reassuring assessment.” 

Yamamoto Genryuusai Shigekuni barked a quiet, amused laugh. 

“He's a _Kuchiki_ , what did you expect?” 

Ginrei snorted again. 

“Fair enough.” 

  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, the Witcher 3 ate my soul for a bit there, but we should be back to regular updates now!


	19. Schemes and Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuya schemes. Renji and Rukia trust him to know what he's doing.

  


* * *

  


XIX. Schemes and Trust. 

  


* * *

  


“Don't see why you couldn't have just sent me instead,” Kuukaku muttered sullenly, coming to sit next to Byakuya with a huff. “Sure, your puffy stuck up family would have been pissed, but I bet I hit harder than the waif you call a sister.” 

Byakuya gave her a warning look and then sighed in resignation as he took the cup she offered. It was hardly the time to drink, but he doubted she would leave him be until he did. Just one, he told himself, and nothing more. Just one drink, and he could buy a measure of peace, at least until dawn. 

“You would do well not to underestimate Rukia,” he murmured, squinting at his drink as if to divine how much he was going to regret swallowing it. 

It came from the jug in her hand, one she had brought from her home with her, and thus not something Byakuya could hope to know the origin of. Knowing Kuukaku and her propensity for alcohol that could very well pass off for paint thinner, he was understandably concerned about what he was about to put in his mouth. 

“Ha, why?” Kuukaku smirked as Byakuya knocked back the cup, his eyes widening as the sake burned like acid down his throat. She snickered. “You gonna threaten to kick my ass if I bully your baby sis?” 

“No,” Byakuya croaked back, regretting everything. _Everything_. “I'm threatening to _laugh_ , when she kicks yours.” 

Kuukaku snorted and bumped her shoulder to his. 

“I don't think you've laughed in fifty years, so I might just let her, on principle,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “Though I suppose she's your sister for a reason.” 

“I've laughed,” Byakuya said abruptly, fighting off the burn of the alcohol and the temptation to give in to the sluggish fog just starting to settle in his mind. When Kuukaku made an inquiring noise in the back of her throat, he sighed. “Renji makes me laugh, sometimes.” 

“I see,” Kuukaku said, blinking as the pieces fell into place, and then snorted, reaching a hand to gently shove Byakuya's head sideways. “Well, don't just leave it at that, you twit, tell me about him. It'll be a while, still, it'll pass the time.” 

“I really don't think that's appropriate,” Byakuya retorted wryly, eyeing the gourd in her hand with newfound respect, particularly when she forwent the cup and just took a swing from it. 

“Considering what you're planing, appropriate can go fuck itself,” Kuukaku retorted, then shoved her shoulder against his a bit harder. “Tell me about your boyfriend, Bya-kun. It's not like you have anyone else to tell.” 

“Shut up,” Byakuya huffed, purposely looking elsewhere, “you're drunk.” 

“And you might just get there, before the night is through,” she replied, then leaned against his side, eyes half lidded. “Maybe if you tell me about your boyfriend you won't end up losing an arm when all's said and done.” 

“One day I will cease to care about you,” Byakuya hissed defensively, standing up and feeling a small vindictive thrill when she lost her balance as a result and slumped on the floor. “And on such a day, you will regret all the taunting you have done over that, Shiba Kuukaku.” 

“Sure, okay. I'll probably deserve it, but between now and then,” Kuukaku quipped back, unruffled as she adjusted herself to lie on her side, “tell me about your boyfriend, or I'll ask him instead,” she threatened, tilting her chin towards the figure in the shadow of a nearby tree. 

“He's not his boyfriend _or_ his lover,” Senbonzakura muttered sullenly, taking off the mask just in time for the impressive roll of his eyes to be appreciated properly, “he's his _lieutenant_.” 

While Kuukaku hooted a mocking laugh, Byakuya regarded her and his zanpakuto with a warning glare. Senbonzakura offered a nonchalant shrug. 

“You're here to report on Muramasa's movements, not comment on my private affairs,” Byakuya hissed in disapproval, glowering when Senbonzakura's eyes gleamed in amusement. 

“Ah, but Byakuya-sama, isn't it prodigious that I am able to do both, at once?” 

Senbonzakura's eyes were blue, rather than grey like Byakuya's own. 

A dark, stormy blue that Byakuya had only seen in someone else's eyes before: his mother's. Byakuya was unsure what to think, about the shape his zanpakuto had taken, but his eyes were what troubled him the most. Those dark blue eyes glinted with childish glee as the spirit sat next to where Kuukaku was lying and offered a tiny, amused smirk. 

“You were right,” he said, sobering up as he spoke. “He doesn't have the power to hold onto the zanpakuto he summons into this world, so he will release as many as he can and use the ensuing chaos to reach his goal.” There was a pause. “He's offended Sode no Shirayuki, when he declared unnamed zanpakuto to be worthless and a wasted effort to awaken, so it will not be long before she leaves him. Zabimaru already has. They told him, and I quote, to go fuck himself, when he tried to admonish them for not killing off Renji when he told them to.” Byakuya watched in amusement as his zanpakuto wore the same exhasperatedly fond expression that usually adorned his own face, when Renji did something... well, wholly _Renji_. “I chose to stay, rather than follow them, but no doubt they will try to corner their master soon enough. As for Muramasa's immediate actions, he's preparing. He will try to release as many Captain-level zanpakuto as he can, no doubt hoping to slip away during the chaos.” 

“Then it is fortunate that you learned the Captains will be meeting tomorrow evening again,” Byakuya murmured, lips twitching just barely, “during your helpful scouting trip.” 

“See,” Kuukaku pointed out, refilling her cup, “this is why I never liked playing chess with you, Byakuya. You're positively ruthless.” 

Byakuya smiled faintly and said nothing in return. 

  


* * *

  


Renji began to reconsider his career choices as he stood among a group of unamused and cranky Captains that looked at him with varying degrees of annoyance. The annoyance, he was sure, was not actually aimed at him, but at the man he was currently substituting for, but still. There was something about Unohana-taicho's mouth, tilted at precisely that angle, that made Renji wish for the power of telepathy. He wasn't entirely sure he could warn Byakuya about that particular storm before it broke on his face. And oh, it was going to, apparently. 

Shinji flashed him a lopsided grin, however, and Renji felt himself relaxing somewhat as he steadily ignored Zaraki's quiet, snake-like glower from the other side of the room. That was also a storm about to break, but Renji wasn't sure if it was going to break on his face or his Captain's. 

He focused instead on the Visored, to try and distract himself from how much he didn't belong in that room, flimsy excuse for an armband notwithstanding. Kensei was grinning that same manic grin of his that apparently haunted Shuuhei's nightmares, though Renji had grown fond of it in the past few weeks. Kensei was loud and impulsive, but he was also honest and straightforward, and Renji really liked that. Rose looked constipated, though. Which Renji was starting to learn was an altogether different expression than his usual pouting. Renji wasn't sure how Kira managed with a Captain who always looked disappointed about everything, but his friend was certainly comfortable with the arrangement and definitely did not complain about it. 

Shinji was Shinji, but Renji thought that was exactly what Momo needed, though he absolutely did not envy them the work they had ahead of themselves. 

“Yama-jii isn't one to abandon us without reason,” Shunsui said soothingly, and Renji hated him a little, the way he could smile placidly despite the mess they were currently in and somehow spread that calm as it seeped into the room. “Finding him is not, however, our first priority right now.” Sasakibe looked visibly upset about that, Renji noted, his fellow lieutenant-substituting-for-a-missing-Captain's mouth pulled tight and his eyes dark, but he nodded grimly in agreement, expression grave. “The Sixth has brought-” Mayuri cleared his throat obnoxiously. “The Sixth _and_ the Twelfth-” 

“And one of mine,” Ukitake interjected, amused and serene despite it all, “while we're at it.” 

Renji noted that his interruption did not bring about more hostile looks. Instead, it somehow broke the tension, as the Captain of the Eighth hid his face under his hat, mock-exasperatedly. 

“As the Sixth, the Twelfth _and_ the Thirteenth so kindly brought to light, we have another, far more pressing matter to attend to.” Renji resisted the urge to fidget when Shunsui nodded at him and every eye in the hall fixed on him. “Unfortunately, as I'm sure Abarai-fukutaicho will be glad to explain to us, Kuchiki-taicho cannot be here tonight, to give his _invaluable_ insight about the situation.” 

There was a moment of silence, before Renji realized it was his turn to speak. He swallowed hard, gathered all the aplomb at his disposal, and focused on the job he had to do, rather than the circumstances of it. It was just like reporting to Byakuya, only worse somehow, but he would pull through. 

“Kuchiki-taicho is currently guarding the Kuchiki Estate, and offers his most sincere apologies for not being here right now,” Renji said, bowing his head a little. “The creature that attacked us, Muramasa, according to the records Kuchiki-taicho asked me to share with you... he is a rogue zanpakuto.” 

“Zanpakuto are but a reflection of a Shinigami's soul,” Komamura growled as he frowned, ears twitching back into what Renji honestly considered a terrifying expression on his face. “How can you say a zanpakuto has gone rogue?” 

“The mechanics behind it would elude you,” Mayuri interrupted, sneering condescendingly, “but I can confirm what Abarai said as truth. Perhaps later, if you are so inclined, I may yet deign to explain it in detail.” 

Renji had the weirdest feeling that Kurotsuchi Mayuri had just stood up for him, though he probably just took the opportunity to insult the entire room at once. Probably. Renji coughed into his hand and pretended the exchange hadn't happened. 

“Regardless of _what_ he is, what's dangerous about this Muramasa is what he _does,_ ” Renji went on, before someone else could interrupt. “He can steal the spirit from our zanpakuto, forcing them into physical manifestation though they're not... quite themselves. They have access to our power and techniques, while our own access to that power is being blocked by their absence, but his control of them seems rather... flimsy.” 

“What makes you say that, Abarai-fukutaicho?” Unohana asked him, head tilted slightly to the side. 

“Because he ordered Zabimaru to kill me, ma'am, and I'm still here.” Renji shrugged and then scowled a little, at the looks he got for his comment. “Zabimaru _is_ me, Taicho, I don't hesitate or get distracted, when I get an order. If I were ordered to kill someone, and I considered it an order from someone whose authority I recognize, then the person or people in question would be _dead_. More so if I had the advantage over them, being able to use shikai and Bankai while they couldn't.” He shrugged again. “Zabimaru and I, we argue on a lot of things, but never about that. Orders are orders, and if there's a concern about my orders, I take it to whoever gave them to clear them up before I act. This might sound simple minded to you, considering the war with Aizen and what it was predicated on, but I'm a soldier. I trust the man who gives me orders to know what he's doing.” Renji narrowed his eyes. “Muramasa gave an order, but Zabimaru did not question it and they did not obey it, because _they_ didn't consider it an order. So I'd dare say that actual control of our zanpakuto is not one of Muramasa's talents. He can give suggestions and make them sound almost like commands, but there's no real power behind it.” 

“This aligns with my observations,” Mayuri said, giving Renji a piercing look with his creepy narrowed eyes that Renji did not like one bit. “The zanpakuto affected seemed to be confused and lashing out on reflex. They are, in the end, swords and swords are made for fighting, it is their basic nature. All one needs to do is subdue them, though without shikai or Bankai at one's disposal, I imagine it will be quite troublesome for you. Currently, confused or not, beyond Abarai's Zabimaru, Kuchiki Byakuya's Senbonzakura and Kuchiki Rukia's Sode no Shirayuki are loose and were last seen helping Muramasa escape.” 

“What about Ashisogi Jizo, Mayuri?” Shinji asked suddenly, arching an eyebrow. “I don't think you'd be here chatting us up if they'd taken your zanpakuto.” 

“Muramasa's power involves warping the spirit to force it to materialize in humanoid form, even if that does not match the zanpakuto's original form,” Mayuri explained, in that same didactic tone that Renji really would he happy never to hear again, and acted like he was lecturing, rather than answering a question. “As you damn well know, Hirako, Ashisogi Jizo is set to self-destruct and reform, should anything attempt to change his basic structure.” Mayuri frowned, annoyed. “I have not yet been able to reverse the materialization and send him back to whence he came.” 

Shijii looked unamused. 

“Is that why there's a poisonous butterfly baby _thing_ frolicking around the gardens of my Division and terrifying my unseated?” 

“I sincerely would not know,” Mayuri replied, in a tone that let everyone present know exactly how much he knew. 

“Yes, well, we can't fight him without giving him Captain-level allies, even temporary ones,” Hitsugaya mused, dragging the dangerously derailing conversation back to the right track. “But then again, we can't just not fight him. Does anyone know what this... Muramasa is actually after? What's his plan or what does he want?” 

“He was trying to break a seal,” Renji offered, frowning back. “The reason Kuchiki-taicho remained is because the last standing anchor for that seal is in the Estate, though he doesn't know what would be released, if Muramasa broke it. He assumed it would be best not to find out, nonetheless.” Renji paused a moment, and gave Shinji a pointed look. “There is... something else, too.” He swallowed hard. “There were Arrancar with him. Weak ones, nothing like the Espada, but they did act like they were being controlled. Single-minded and stubborn about things, I reckon Muramasa might be behind the other Arrancar attacks, since... well...” 

“Since Tier Harribel assumed control of Hueco Mundo and signed a truce with the Captain Commander,” Shunsui summarized, even as Renji winced a little at the callousness of his tone. “Well, then.” His smile, Renji noticed, was no longer placid. “I'm sure Yama-jii will be pissed if all's in shambles when he gets back, so let's make sure it doesn't happen, shall we? I trust you're already working on analyzing Muramasa's power, Kurotsuchi-taicho, so it's best if we leave you be, hmm?” Mayuri made a rude noise in the back of his throat, but shrugged. “Yes, exactly. I suggest we make preparations to repel a full force attack. I do not need to remind anyone here the sheer destruction subduing a Captain-level zanpakuto might involve.” 

  


* * *

  


Rukia was not having a nice night. 

In the aftermath of the fight against Sode no Shirayuki, she would have much preferred to be alone and take a chance to really think about what had happened and what she had told her. She felt a visceral need to understand what had happened, and why she had been overpowered so easily. 

Instead she was holding a lantern and guiding a group of temperamental, furious Kuchiki through the maze of tunnels beneath the Seireitei to one of the safe houses that had been built precisely in case something like this happened. It was a hallowed duty that should have fallen to her brother, as Head of the Clan, but Byakuya had pointed out his duty to protect the Root superseded even that. Thus it had fallen on Rukia to guide the remnants of the Clan to safety, and given how she had been appointed personally by Byakuya for the task, she could not afford to screw it up. It was a monumental thing, after all, and any other time she would have been humbled to the marrow of her bones because of it. 

But any other time she would not have been boiling over with frustration over her unruly zanpakuto and the spiteful truths she'd spat at her during their fight. 

The ordeal with the Hougyoku had crippled her, plain and simple. 

She had been strong enough, before she met Ichigo, well on her way to earn a seat in the Thirteenth. But after she was pulled out of that gigai and her own powers restored to her, she had found them lacking. Originally, she had thought she had been out of practice and had set out to train and prepare for the war. But after her fight with Sode no Shirayuki, there was no denying that the gap between them was very real and very damning. 

Rukia wasn't sure what was going to happen, in the following days. She wasn't even sure what she'd do, if she had to fight Sode no Shirayuki again. 

But no matter what, Rukia resolved to become strong again, stronger even. 

Her pride would not allow otherwise. 

  


* * *

  


“I'm going to yell at you,” Renji whined as he crawled into bed and under Byakuya's arm, just as the sun was starting to rise in the horizon, “so freaking much once all this mess is sorted out.” 

“Indeed?” Byakuya asked, clearly amused as the redhead found his spot and the tension melted from his back as soon as he did. 

“Until I go hoarse,” Renji promised, and let out a soft moan when long fingers dug into his hair, “Captain meetings are positively terrifying.” 

“I find them boring, myself,” Byakuya confessed, and chuckled as Renji huffed in reply. “But I am very confident you will get used to them soon enough.” 

“Is there anything you don't find boring?” Renji asked grumpily, more so when those lovely fingers left his scalp to til his head up. 

“You, obviously,” Byakuya pointed out haughtily enough it almost made Renji forget they were in bed. 

“Obviously,” the redhead agreed, wry. Renji felt a headache building up behind his left eye as he realized the expression that settled on Byakuya's features was... well, Zaraki-ish. “You spent all night plotting, didn't you?” 

Byakuya offered a thin lipped smile, and leaned in to kiss Renji softly. 

“Hardly,” he countered, though his expression was at odds with the words, “I'm just waiting for it to be set in motion.” 

“That's the opposite of reassuring,” Renji informed him, and then added, in a quieter tone: “They believed me.” 

“Good.” 

“No,” Renji insisted, starting to get worked up again until those fingers found his scalp again. He hissed: “You don't understand, I stood there and lied to their faces and _they believed me_.” 

“They have no reason not to,” Byakuya said, before he leaned in to pressed his lips to Renji's temple. “Nonetheless, I appreciate the vote of confidence.” 

“I trust you, you know that,” Renji shifted again, lying half his weight on Byakuya's side and burying his face against his throat. “I probably shouldn't because you're a deranged genius maniac who's convinced the entirety of the world you're not, and I'm the sole sane man who's seen through the act so you're probably trying to get rid of me, of course, but I trust you anyway.” 

Byakuya took no offense to the jab, if only because it was half slurred and Renji refused to meet his eyes as he delivered it. And Renji only ever joked like that when he was trying to downplay the effect of his words and his feelings. Thus, Byakuya understood very well that such a rant was nothing more than a sincere proclamation of devotion, in Renji's own roundabout way. 

“I know you do,” Byakuya said instead, fingers carding through bright red hair, “I live each day making sure I deserve it.” His lips twitched in amusement. “Bouts with Zaraki notwithstanding.” 

“Deranged. Genius. Maniac.” Renji muttered, eyes closed and voice starting to drag with drowsiness. 

“Let's say I admit to being that,” Byakuya teased, enjoying the way tension slowly melted off Renji's shoulders as he surrendered to sleep after such a long day and night. “And I am not convinced yet, but for the sake of indulging you, let's say I am all those things; what would that make you?” 

Renji snorted. 

“The moron who loves you anyway?” 

Byakuya froze for a moment, having not expected such candidness in reply, yet it was a moment too long, since by the time he'd put his thoughts in order to deliver a response, Renji was already asleep. He swallowed back the words, then, and laid there for as long as he could, staring at the ceiling because he refused to give in to temptation to stare at Renji instead. 

It was going to be a terribly long day, he could just tell. 

  


* * *

  



	20. Rendezvous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji tries his best and prepares to face Zabimaru. Byakuya continues to be a cryptic asshat. Rukia is a Kuchiki through and through.

  


* * *

  


XX. Rendezvous. 

  


* * *

  


“Renji,” Byakuya said, voice soft, then reached a hand to brush some hair off his brow, “it's time.” 

Renji let out a soft sigh and opened his eyes to see the solemn look in his Captain's eyes. It was light outside, which wasn't saying much, considering he'd passed out well after dawn, but he felt... better. Marginally so. There was a gaping hole in his soul, still, where Zabimaru's wisecracking presence had always resided, but at least he was no longer so exhausted he felt like sleeping standing up. 

“How long was I out?” He asked, arching his neck to bump his head against Byakuya's hand. 

“About five hours and a half,” Byakuya replied, carding his fingers through the bright red hair one last time, before standing up and walking away from the bed towards the small dresser where the kenseikan was waiting. “Muramasa will make his move during the Captain meeting this evening, so we must make ours before that.” 

“Shouldn't have let me sleep in that long then,” Renji teased a little as he sat up and cracked his back loudly. “Shit,” he muttered, digging his fingers into his hair as he ruffled it a little. “Tracking down those two is gonna be a pain, I just know it.” 

“I am perfectly certain you'll manage just fine,” Byakuya mused, wrapping the white bands around his hair. 

“Vote of confidence is cool and all,” was the reply, as Renji bowed his head, arms resting on his knees, “don't get me wrong, I'm flattered, really. But subduing those two without leaving a trail of destruction behind is going to be a freaking chore.” 

“I managed to bring Senbonzakura back to normal easily enough,” Byakuya pointed out. “You're cunning enough when you want to be, you'll think of something.” 

Renji gave him a dry, exasperated look. 

“Laying on the praise thick ain't gonna make me not point out you basically flattered half the gardens in the process, y'know?” 

Byakuya snorted quietly and very pointedly looked away. 

“Whatever.” Renji sighed loudly and shoved the covers off, finally stepping out of the bed. “Point is,” he said, walking over to the chair where his clothes were waiting for him, clean and neatly folded, “I'm gonna try and keep destruction to a minimum, though I doubt it'll be easy.” 

Renji tried hard not to think about the servant that must had come in to collect his clothes and then returned them, after they were cleaned. He tried hard not to think about the tiny details about the Kuchiki household and the dozens of eyes that tracked his every movement and the trail of unspoken little details that reminded him near constantly that his presence was not only acknowledged but accounted for, in the manor. Byakuya had said there were no secrets, within those walls, and Renji believed him. He wasn't all too eager to find out what the opinion was, on his presence in Byakuya's bed, though. He had appreciated the help sneaking about with the entirety of the Clan prowling the corridors, but there was something deeply unsettling about the level of scrutiny he felt under. 

“They're you, in a way,” Byakuya pointed out, casually admiring Renji's tattoos as he dressed and slowly covered them up. “Perhaps they share your concerns about wanton destruction of public and private property.” 

Renji barked a sharp, snide laugh. 

“See, that's the thing,” he replied, tying the sash around his waist with a wry smirk. “If we fight, we're gonna fight for real, this time. All out, holding nothing back.” He gave Byakuya a pointed, feral look that would have made him shiver, were he a lesser man and not Kuchiki Byakuya himself. “You've never seen me let go in a fight. I care about the consequences, about what people'll think and who's gonna have to clean up the mess, afterwards. Zabimaru ain't gonna give a fuck about that, and neither will I, if I want to bring them to heel.” Renji walked over to the dresser to grab a comb and fix his hair. “It ain't gonna be pretty, is what I mean.” 

Byakuya made a noise in the back of his throat, but said nothing. Renji squinted at him, holding the hairband between his teeth as he combed his hair with his fingers. 

“What?” 

“Nothing at all,” Byakuya said, resolutely smothering the twinge of interest at the mental image of Renji letting himself go in a fight, and all the intriguing little questions that came up with it. “Will you stay for breakfast? Though given the hour, it will be more like lunch.” 

“Nah,” Renji finished wrapping the bandanna around his head, hiding most of his forehead and the tattoos on it, and let out a loud sigh. “I'll snatch something from the mess hall, 'sides Hotaru's probably about to have a meltdown since this mess is making our paperwork back up already.” 

“The horror,” Byakuya deadpanned, one eyebrow arched. “Although...” 

“No, me substituting you at Captain meetings doesn't mean I'm gonna do your paperwork for you,” Renji snorted, vaguely amused even if he pointedly did not look at Byakuya's face. “No, not even if you call it training.” 

“Oh very well,” Byakuya teased, put upon tone on his voice not exactly convincing, but then his expression sobered up. “Remember-” 

“I know, I know, it's gotta be done before the Captain's meeting tonight,” Renji interrupted with a shrug. “Just because I don't know what I'm doing doesn't mean I won't get it done anyway.” 

Renji blinked when long, spidery fingers caught his face and tugged him to turn and look at Byakuya in the eye. 

“Your previous orders about dying stupidly still stand,” he said, as he pulled Renji down so he could kiss him. “Please keep them in mind while you're having a stroke over property damage.” 

  


* * *

  


“Why are you protecting them?” 

Rukia startled and looked up to find Sode no Shirayuki standing on the roof of the main complex. The zanpakuto stood out in sharp contrast to the dark and somewhat bleak surroundings, her skin and her clothes glowing almost ethereally. Rukia narrowed her eyes, refusing to be swayed by the majestic display and reminded herself sharply that up until their last meeting, Sode no Shirayuki had been very convincing in her attempts to defeat her, if not outright kill her. 

“Sode no Shirayuki,” Rukia acknowledged her, standing up as she let her hand rest on the hilt of her zanpakuto. 

“They will not thank you for this,” Sode no Shirayuki insisted, gliding down from the rooftop in a shower of snowflakes, expression severe. “They will not open their arms wide and welcome you as one of their own. They will see it as the natural order of the world, the faithful servant who protects her masters.” 

Rukia let out a soft chuckle that made Sode no Shirayuki summon her shikai to her hand, eyes glowing at the perceived insult. 

“I have been thinking,” Rukia explained, holding her sword parallel to her body, tip pointing at the ground. “About what you said before.” She set her jaw, eyes narrowed. “I apologize, Sode no Shirayuki, for not making my feelings clear before. I do define myself by what others see and think of me, of course, but not everyone gets the privilege.” Rukia gathered her spiritual pressure as she'd been practicing, since the rest of the Clan had retired to rest. If she could only remember what it felt like, releasing her shikai, she was sure she could recover it. “I care about what Nii-sama thinks of me. Renji and Ichigo, too... Their opinions matter to me, and I never want to disappoint them again.” 

“It doesn't matter who they are,” Sode no Shirayuki snapped, and in response to her annoyance, it began to snow in the cavern, temperature dropping abruptly, “you're still allowing them to define who you are, what you can do.” 

“Of course it matters,” Rukia rebuked her, and despite the situation, she smiled. “Because I define them, as much as they define me. I am who I am, because of them, yes. But they are who they are, because of me. I am strong because I am not alone; I have people who will fight for me, _with me_ , and for whom I'll fight to the bitter end.” She felt her zanpakuto vibrating in her hands, but continued to push all of her reiatsu into it, as if by flooding it with it, she could fill up the gap between them. “Do you remember what Nii-sama said, after the battle in Hueco Mundo?” 

“No,” Sode no Shirayuki snapped, the sword in her own grasp vibrating in sympathy with Rukia's as her own power wavered slightly. She forced herself to sneer, rather than give away her surprise at the sudden change in Rukia's demeanor. It was like she was an entirely different person than before. “He wasn't talking to me.” 

“He said, strength is not my pride, it is my pride that gives me strength,” Rukia recited, raising up her zanpakuto as if to release one of her special attacks. “I'm sorry, Sode no Shirayuki, for forgetting about my own pride.” 

When Rukia leaped at her, and the twin swords clashed between them, Sode no Shirayuki realized she was no longer capable of overwhelming her mistress. Rukia noticed it as well, but rather than gloating, her eyes were kind. Determined, yes, but kind nonetheless. 

Sode no Shirayuki lashed out at her, doing her best to ignore the gaping emptiness within, that suddenly became painfully obvious. 

Muramasa had not freed her from enslavement, she thought, as Rukia dodged the flurry of ice and snow patiently, waiting for the natural openings in her attacks and closing the distance between them steadily. Rather than rushing in and trying to finish the fight quickly, Rukia allowed herself to advance slowly, but in the process forced Sode no Shirayuki to step back to keep her long range advantage. She was calm and focused, all the way until she sank her sword right through Sode no Shirayuki's gut; and she thought, Muramasa had torn her away from the only home she'd ever had and filled the hole Rukia had left behind with confused bitterness and baseless rage, both of which were quickly evaporating. 

“Rukia-sama...” Sode no Shirayuki gasped, as she fell into her mistress' arms and found she could think clearly for the first time since she'd been forcefully manifested, “I...” 

“Shh,” Rukia whispered gently, “it's okay now. It's gonna be alright, I promise.” 

  


* * *

  


“We've secured our districts, but I'm not sure what else we can do.” 

Renji watched Hotaru's face as the shorter woman slumped into her seat with a loud sigh. She looked twitchy and irritated, and Renji had one of those moments where he reminded himself sternly to never piss her off on purpose. She had been acting lieutenant before he was assigned the post, and though he had expected her to be bitter about not being given the position, he found she was very solicitous and almost... content to let him have it. Well, she hadn't outright tried to murder him for it, at the very least, though her disapproving stares had been up there with Byakuya's sneers as motivators to get him to work hard and figure out how to be a good lieutenant post haste. 

These days, Renji marveled, Hotaru seemed quite satisfied with his work and entirely willing to follow his lead. He knew he could trust her to watch his back and help him keep the Division afloat in their Captain's absence, and frankly he wasn't sure he would be able to do as much, if she wasn't there to hold the fort, what with Byakuya's ridiculous plan keeping him away. 

He was going to have a talk about that with his Captain, he realized, and he was pretty sure it wasn't going to be pleasant. The Sixth deserved better, and Byakuya should know better, too. 

“Did you find anything along the walls?” Renji asked, poking at his food as he tried to refocus on the moment, rather than the staggering amount of things he still needed to get done. “Did Sui-Feng-taicho say anything?” 

Hotaru gave him a dirty look that promised retribution one day. 

“My hopes and dreams are dashed,” she said, voice utterly deadpan, “I'll never transfer to the Second now.” 

Renji winced. 

“That bad, huh?” 

Hotaru let out a slow, vicious sigh. 

“That level of condescension should be a criminal offense.” 

“Tell you what, next time you deal with Kurotsuchi-taicho, and I'll deal with Sui-Feng-taicho,” Renji offered, grin wilting only slightly in the face of another dark glare. “See? It could always be worse.” 

“God, you're hopeless,” Hotaru said, shaking her head, “even your pessimism is uplifting.” 

“All part of a lieutenant's job,” he replied, “someone's gotta keep the morale up.” 

“Oh, you're keeping _something_ up, alright,” Hotaru muttered sullenly, but when Renji choked on a bite and looked like he might ask what she meant, she waved a hand dismissively. “Never mind that, did Kuchiki-taicho give you new orders to pass down?” 

Renji hesitated. 

“Not really,” he said, and that was the truth, but he also knew that with the impending release of at least a couple other Captain-level zanpakuto, chaos was imminent. Byakuya had ordered him simply to bring Zabimaru to heel and prepare for the next stage of his plan, and during the Captain meeting, all other Captains had agreed to keep things quiet under a strict need to know basis, as the absence of the Captain Commander would send panic through the ranks. Renji knew he should keep his mouth damn well shut. Instead, he said: “but things are gonna go to shit soon enough, I think. I need you to get everyone in high alert, but do it quietly.” 

“You do realize that's your second oxymoron of the day, right?” Hotaru pointed out, giving him a skeptical look. “High alert is anything but quiet. What are we even facing?” 

“I don't know,” Renji said, swallowing hard, and it wasn't an entire lie. “The Captain's got a plan and I'm gonna help him deal with it as best I can, but I don't want anyone to get hurt, if they don't have to.” 

“Abarai-fukutaicho-” 

“Listen,” he insisted, interrupting whatever sensible, reasonable thing she was about to say. “We've secured our districts, so civilian casualties shouldn't be a problem, but now we need to secure ourselves. And if anything happens, you need to take charge and keep things under wraps. All kidding aside, I know you can do it, you've done it before.” 

“That was a war,” Hotaru said sharply, violet eyes narrowed. 

“A war that started over secrets and stupid executive decisions,” Renji agreed, shrugging. “Can't do anything about the secrets in this instance, but I'll be damned if I help with the second bit this time around. The Captain can't be here for us, and if I can't be either, you need to step up and make sure the Sixth survives this as unscathed as possible.” 

“You're not making any sense,” she said, though Renji could see the gears turning behind her eyes. “Just so you know.” 

“Well aware of that,” Renji sighed, and shoved the plate away from him, only half eaten. “But work with me here, okay? I have a bad feeling about this, and if it turns out it was just shitty dinner, well that's that. But if not...” 

“We won't be taken by surprise,” Hotaru finished for him. “Abarai... Renji.” When he winced, she gave him a pointed, reproving look. “Renji, if something does happen, and we're expecting it, what do you think they'll say about us? Especially if the other Divisions are blindsided entirely?” He didn't answer, because the word itself was anathema to him, but given how pale he looked, Hotaru nodded slowly. “You mean well. That's really the only reason I like you, to be honest, you always mean well. But you're a lieutenant now, and you're going to be a Captain one day. And when you get that rank, meaning well is just not enough anymore.” She studied his dejected, contrite look for a long moment, then let out a long, annoyed sigh. “As it is, I'll see what I can do. We're spread pretty thin, so I make no promises.” 

“Gotta be thinner in a minute,” Renji joked halfheartedly, offering a sincere smile, “there's something I gotta take care of.” 

“Something?” Hotaru said archly, “or _someone_?” 

“Both,” Renji admitted, standing up and letting his hand fall on his zanpakuto's hilt on reflex. “Hold the fort, okay?” 

“Well, someone has to,” Hotaru replied dryly, then clicked her tongue. “Don't get killed, alright?” Renji startled at the words, and then found himself grinning back at her, when she added: “I want a raise, out of this mess, not a promotion.” 

“I don't know, Misuzu-fukutaicho has a nice ring to it,” he teased, and laughed when she wrinkled her nose in reply. 

“So does Abarai-taicho, but you don't see me picking on you for it.” 

“No, you pick on me for everything else you can get away with,” he snorted. 

“Well,” she added, shooing him to the door, “it's tacky as all hell to start choosing a lieutenant before you're even been named Captain.” 

  


* * *

  


With a slight sense of deja vu, Renji found himself once more kneeling in what was technically part of the Kuchiki gardens, Zabimaru resting on his knees. 

Of course this time around the manor was miles away and all around him were the mangled remains of the gardens, in the aftermath of Byakuya's fight with Senbonzakura. And he wasn't so much trying to sink into the labyrinth of shoji doors that Zabimaru called home, as much as calling attention to himself. 

He had a theory, born out of what Byakuya had told him, that Muramasa didn't outright sever the link between shinigami and zanpakuto, so much as he mucked up their senses so they couldn't remember what it felt like. It was like losing a limb, only the limb was still there, asleep and unresponsive. Or so Renji thought. He needed to draw out Zabimaru, and fight them until he could bring them back to their senses, and to do that, he was going to make a racket, in his inner world. Following his metaphor of an asleep limb, to recreate that itchy, crawly sensation when blood began to flow again. It didn't stand to be very pleasant, of course, but Renji was sort of resigned to it. 

With any luck, it would be as annoying for Zabimaru as it was for him, and he could use that as a way to drag them out somewhere he wouldn't feel too bad about demolishing, if only because Byakuya had already done the dubious honor. 

“You're being annoying,” a low, growling voice said against his ear, and Renji opened his eyes to find the baboon half of his zanpakuto slumped against his back, chin hooked on his shoulder. 

“A-nno-ying!” The snake boy added in a mocking singsong as he let himself flop on Renji's head. 

“Am I, now?” Renji taunted, keeping his eyes straight ahead as a small smirk tugged at his mouth. “Funny how I'm not dead, then.” 

“We'd never stab you in the back, Renji,” the woman said, voice almost purring. 

“Not when it's so much fun to do it head on!” The boy went on, cackling. 

“Fair enough,” Renji said, and then twisted around to try and slash them with his sword, “no pulling punches anymore.” 

Zabimaru grinned at him with a manic, feral look in their faces that Renji was positively certain was also plastered all over his own. 

“We never do.” 

Grinning, despite it all, he leaped. 

  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I was gonna do 20 chapters and be done with it, but the plot grew a bit too much for that. Still, hopefully no more than 30, so we're at least two thirds through, and should be done soon enough!


	21. Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight against Zabimaru does absolutely not go according to plan. Meanwhile, Byakuya frets and Hinamori Momo tries in vain to puzzle out her new Captain.

  


* * *

  


XXI. Wrath. 

  


* * *

  


“Have a drink,” Kuukaku offered, coming to sit next to Byakuya on the corridor overlooking the quickly disappearing gardens in the distance, “it'll make waiting it out easier.” 

Byakuya made an irritable sound in the back of his throat and allowed himself to wallow in the terribly undignified posture he was in. In the distance, far beyond what they could objectively see, Renji's reiatsu expanded exponentially and clashed repeatedly against a mirror of itself. Byakuya knew without having to watch that a spectacular fight was being fought, but he also dearly wished he could see it. 

“Is sake your answer to everything?” He snapped testily and offered an unamused glare when Kuukaku shrugged unrepentantly. 

“Would you rather I gave you _another_ hand?” She taunted him, cackling when his eyes darkened with anger and he huffed viciously as he purposely looked away. “Thought so.” 

“One day-” 

“You'll stop being deeply, madly in love with me, yes,” Kuukaku interrupted dryly, smirking as Byakuya's eyes narrowed warningly. “And then you'll treat me like you'd treat anyone else. But until that inevitable day comes, _Bya-kun_ , I plan to squeeze your long-suffering good will for all its worth. It's only fair.” 

Byakuya opened his mouth to retort something snide and vicious and realized as Kuukaku's eyes gleamed with amusement that was precisely what she wanted. To pick a fight with him, just so he'd have something to focus on instead of keeping obsessive tabs on Renji's fight. Meddlesome, loathesome, thoughtful creature, Byakuya thought spitefully, as he let out his breath in a drawn-out hiss and pointedly looked away. 

He wanted a co-conspirator, dammit, not a friend. 

Kuukaku, being Kuukaku, smirked at his reaction, but said no more. 

She didn't need to, what with the lovely ghost of red sprawled across the bridge of Byakuya's nose. 

  


* * *

  


“You're not taking this seriously,” the woman said severely, even as her breathing was a sharp and fast panting, like Renji's. “You're hesitating, Renji.” 

“Am fucking _not_ ,” Renji hissed, picking himself off the ground as he angrily shoved his hair off his face, his bandanna and hairband having been lost somewhere along the struggle, “promise.” 

“Are fucking too~” The boy singsonged, bright yellow eyes glinting as he sneered. “You're sticking to the bits that were already broken, 'cause you don't want to break anything else.” 

Of course they'd noticed, Renji thought as he licked his lips and refused to answer to the taunting. It hadn't been very subtle, after all, since it cost him two really fucking unforgiving slashes on the back, but while the area around them looked like nothing would ever grow on it again, they had, indeed, avoided breaking anything else. 

“You're not taking this _seriously_ ,” Zabimaru's baboon half snarled insistently, fist clenched on the handle of their mirror of Renji's own sword as her eyes glowed with the promise of murder. “We want to be strong, Renji. Do you understand what strength is? All this thoughtful hesitation and noble self-sacrifice is _bullshit_. You either are strong, or you're not.” 

“We really will kill you, you know,” the snake half pointed out, folding his legs in the air as it sat on his tail, arms crossed over his chest. “We decided that, when we got bored of Muramasa's ordering us around. We want to be strong, and if you can't be strong for us, we'll find someone else who can.” 

“It's not that we don't like you, Renji,” the woman went on, pinning Renji down with a heavy, judging look and catching him so thoroughly by surprise that his retort never made it past his lips. “We'll be _sad_ , if you die.” 

Renji spluttered as he stepped back and barely avoided having his head cut clean off by his shikai, now resting in the boy's hands as he gave him a wide, taunting grin. 

“Better sad than weak, though,” he hissed, licking his lips, “right?” 

“You two are fucking _crazy_ ,” Renji snarled, leaping back a couple meters to try and regroup. “Legitimate _bananas_ crazy.” 

He resisted the urge to facepalm when the boy broke into chortling giggles, shikai vanishing from his hands as he buried his desperate laughter into them. He'd meant to do that, Renji reminded himself, to get a little breathing space. He just hadn't expected it to work _so well_. 

“Bananas!” The boy shrieked in delight, ignoring the dark glare from his bustier half, “get it? 'Cause you're a _monkey!_ ” 

“I'm _not_ a monkey,” the woman snarled, even though she looked a fair bit like a monkey, albeit with a larger cup-size than one would expect. “I'm a _baboon_.” She shoved the boy hard enough he lost his balance and fell off his own tail, though he didn't seem to mind much. She turned her glare to Renji. “That was terrible.” 

Renji flashed her an unrepentant grin. 

“Don't you mean ape-palling?” 

“Ape-palling!” The snake boy cackled hysterically, feet kicking the air. “Get it? _Get it?_ ” 

Renji was reluctantly delighted by the reaction, because they were him, after all, and there were few things he really did love as much as a gut-wrenchingly bad pun. That it gave him a chance to catch his breath and plan his next steps was just a nice bonus, really. 

“Oh,” the woman said, eyes half-lidded as she tugged sharply on the chain to pull the boy back to his feet with a little umph, “ _I_ get it.” Renji sobered up, hands clenching tight around the hilt of his sword. “I warned you to take this seriously,” she insisted as she pushed at him with all her strength, forcing him to skid back as he tried to resist the blow. 

He cried out in surprise as he was blown back and up, and then felt his breathing hitched when she was behind him, interrupting his trajectory with a sharp, painful kick to his spine that hurled him to the ground so hard he left a crater behind. 

“Shit,” he hissed, feeling at least four broken ribs throb wildly in protest. 

“Now I'm gonna _make_ you take it seriously,” Zabimaru hissed, tugging on the chain until she had the boy under one arm, and then leaped away. 

Renji swore colorfully and eloquently, and only had three false starts before he took off after them. 

  


* * *

  


This is my life now, Momo thought a tad hysterically, trying her very best to keep a straight face as a winged, yellow baby currently plopped unceremoniously atop her Captain's head pulled at his hair with a look best described as delighted malice. 

To be fair, Hirako-taicho was a good Captain. He kept up with his paperwork and insisted on getting to know the shinigami in their Division. He had really neat handwriting – even if he wrote all his reports backwards and sometimes mirrored, just for kicks – and he always asked Momo her opinion about things. Most importantly, he set out to rebuild the Fifth from the ground up and he clearly expected Momo to do half the job with him. He didn't look at her like she was broken or needed to be coddled, but he also didn't rub salt into the wounds if he could help it. He had a weird sense of humor and his deadpan snark was a little meanspirited at times, but deep down, Momo was sure he was a decent man. 

Perhaps, she thought a little more cynically than most would give her credit for, because he wore his flaws on his sleeves and made such earnest attempts to cover up his virtues. 

It had been hard, of course, to pick up the pieces after the war. 

She had friends who cared for her and worried about her health. Friends like Matsumoto, who came to visit every day even when she wasn't allowed in to see her. Friends like Toushirou, who said nothing but kept leaving her favorite sweets on her desk, when he thought she wasn't looking. Friends like Izuru, who traded books with her and never offered to talk because betrayal like they had endured need not be stated to be understood. Even friends like Renji, rare and far in between, who looked at her and took her assurances to be fine at face value and categorically refused to question her assessment of herself. Momo knew she was lucky, despite it all, because even if for a while there she hadn't been grateful for it, she had survived it. Aizen. The war. The glaring, all consuming _It_ that split her life in two, a before and an after, and which she still hadn't decided which one was best. 

But now there was also Hirako-taicho, who was kind without being nice and just without being fair, and who Momo felt she almost understood up to the point he said or did something that made it patently obvious she didn't. It was a little bit frustrating, yes, but the nice kind of frustrating that made her want to try again and get it right this time. 

Of course there were also times when she regretted everything and dearly wished to go hide beneath the covers again. 

“Ne, Mayuri, are you done yet?” Shinji asked in his whiniest, most obnoxious tone, chin hooked on a hand, elbow propped up the armrest of the couch and the rest of his body sprawled on it lazily. “I'm _bored_.” 

Momo... was grateful, to Kurotsuchi-taicho. He had, after all, led the effort that had eventually saved her life, essentially rebuilding most of her insides after... That happened. It would be terribly rude of her, not to. But that didn't mean she _liked_ him, and like most of Soul Society, she harbored a very deep respect for him that was born of not insignificant fear of what he could do and get away with. 

Hirako-taicho seemed to be lacking in any of that, Momo observed a bit anxiously. He had strolled into the Twelfth like it was the most natural thing in the world, and Momo had followed, of course, because that was her place. This was the opposite direction from where that spike of reiatsu Momo had reported had come from, but perhaps her Captain wanted to assess the potential danger? She had been sure there was a perfectly good reason why heading over to the Twelfth was necessary. 

But then he'd just made small talk with Nemu – proclaimed his burning, passionate love for her in the driest, most deadpan voice possible, which somehow still made Momo flustered even if it got no reaction at all from Nemu – and then proceeded to whine at Kurotsuchi-taicho without a care to the increasing amount of annoyance he was clearly giving the man. 

And _then_ there was the butterfly baby thing that had been terrorizing the gardens of the Fifth the night before and which had immediately made a perch for itself atop her Captain's head as soon as he walked through the door. 

“Is that somehow supposed to be an issue I care about?” Mayuri asked dryly, not bothering to look up from... whatever it was he was looking at in a table, half hidden by the heap of machinery and delicate instruments resting on it. 

“You promised me lunch,” Shinji replied, in the most desperately flat inflection Momo had ever heard, “how mean of you to forget, my heart is broken now.” 

“I did no such thing,” Mayuri retorted, snorting disdainfully. 

“Did too!” Shinji said, grinning maliciously in a way that Momo realized she never wanted to have aimed at her, if at all possible. “You said you'd do _anything_ if I-” An explosion from Mayuri's table obscured half of Shinji's sentence, but he went on regardless. “-and I want lunch.” 

“ _Out_ ,” Mayuri hissed, voice murderous, and Momo tensed at the spike in his reiatsu, when a hand lightly tapped her shoulder. “Out, you simpleton _buffoon_.” 

She looked up to find a bland-looking Akon staring down at her. 

“You might want to get out now,” he said, offering a small shrug. “They're loud when they argue and Kurotsuchi-taicho rarely cares about collateral damage when they do. Plus,” he added after a moment, uncertain, “it _is_ lunch time.” 

“That's not very encouraging,” Momo said, missing whatever it was her Captain retorted that made Mayuri let out a high pitched noise of fury and throw a beaker at his head. 

“But it's the truth.” Akon shrugged. After a moment, he added: “It's traditional. Their fights. They're traditional. They fought a lot like that, back when Urahara-taicho was in charge. So it's very unlikely they will actually hurt each other.” He let out a put upon sigh. “They just hurt everyone around them instead.” 

“That's not healthy,” Momo said a bit uncertainly, even as she stood up and followed Akon out of the room, purposely not looking back at the sounds of her Captain's laughter and Kurotsuchi-taicho's hissing threats. 

“Maybe,” Akon said diplomatically, “but it's not our place to judge.” 

Momo made a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat before she sighed loudly. 

“Would lunch include those tiny bell-shaped riceballs you guys gave me last time I was here?” 

Akon offered the closest thing to a smile Momo had ever seen. 

“I'll see what I can do.” 

  


* * *

  


Hotaru blinked when she felt Renji's familiar reiatsu land in the main courtyard. Only, it was erratic. Renji's spiritual pressure was controlled, always subdued though hinting at its true depth, if one spent enough time around him. At the moment it felt... ruffled, was the best word she could come up with. Wild and fluctuating, scratching that line of Captain-level that everyone threw around about him – but that Hotaru wasn't still 100% sure she believed, because she'd felt his Bankai, way back when, when the war started, but she'd spent a decade serving Kuchiki Byakuya and he would always be what she thought about when someone said _Captain-level._

Renji had never been even close to that, before. Hotaru had heard that he'd fought in Hueco Mundo, and there were rumors that during his recent absence, he'd actually been training. And of course, everyone in the Sixth knew the Captain had taken to beating the tar out of their lieutenant in the mornings. 

Hotaru knew Renji was strong, of course, but she had no idea he could be _that_ strong. 

And the strange twitches in his reiatsu were worrisome, too. 

Resolutely, she put down the brush and walked briskly to see what was going on. She found a circle of unseated holding onto their unnamed zanpakuto as steadily as they could, but in the center... 

“Renji?” 

They had Renji's hair, Hotaru noted. That shade of red was simply unique in the Gotei 13, and she'd dare say the Seireitei itself. And they had Renji's tattoos, bizarrely enough: the black lines over her fur and his scales were the exact same width and shape. 

But Renji was neither a child with a snake-like grin and a snake-like tail, nor a woman with a jumpsuit made out of fur and cleavage to give the lieutenant of the Tenth a run for her money. 

“Almost~” The boy singsonged, raising on his tail and folding his legs as if he was sitting on midair. 

“But not quite,” the woman sneered, raising an hand that was holding onto the thick, black chain that bound her to the boy. “ _Bankai_.” 

Oh, Hotaru thought, as the blast of released reiatsu flat out knocked the unseated to the ground and made shivers rush down her spine: so _that's_ what they mean, by Captain-level. 

She was unconscious before she hit the ground and the last thing she remembered coherently was the boy's eyes glowing scarlet as his entire body was consumed by fog and a feral and almost hollow-like growl that knocked the air clean out of her lungs. 

  


* * *

  


The Sixth was in ruins. 

It had been barely a moment, Renji thought, his anger so profound it had gone cold and quiet. He'd felt it – the entire fucking Soul Society might have felt it – the explosion of reiatsu at the heart of the Sixth Division, and the momentary presence of his Bankai. It had vanished almost immediately afterwards, but the aftermath was undeniable. 

The Sixth was in ruins. 

“Renji!” The woman said, sitting on a pile of rubble while her fingers played with the chain, “so good of you to come by. You missed the fireworks~” 

There were shinigami thrown about everywhere, seated and unseated, and Renji was simply too angry to look at them long enough to realize if they were dead or just unconscious. 

“That was a mistake,” Renji said, eyes narrowed to slits and reiatsu roaring just under his skin. 

He threw a slash with Zabimaru out of frustration, and the blade transformed mid-swing, releasing its shikai and slamming into the space the two were occupying mercilessly. He was so angry, he wasn't even surprised at that or satisfied to see the snarls as they dodged it. 

“So you have back your shikai,” the snake boy hissed back, taunting, “big deal!” 

“You can't defeat us with _just_ shikai,” the baboon woman snarled, even as she felt their power dwindling as Renji's own grew. “Bankai!” 

Renji withstood the wave of reiatsu as they released themselves: the boy shrouded in fog that stretched and grew until from it slithered out his Bankai. The woman held it easily, without that hint of desperation that always made Renji hold onto the hilt too tightly. 

Kind of like how he was holding onto the hilt of his zanpakuto at the moment, actually: fingers loose enough his arm was relaxed, rather than cramping. 

Anger was a wonderful teacher, Renji thought, and wordlessly threw another swing of his shikai at them, each fang glowing with the sheer, bottomless wrath boiling in his blood and distilled into reiatsu. He didn't even notice all the scraps and broken bits that he'd acquired during the first half of their battle. Even the cut across his torso that had nearly disemboweled him at some point, either it had finally stopped bleeding or he'd just completely lost track of it. 

He was too angry to care about anything except: 

“ _Get the fuck out of my Division_ ,” Renji hissed, voice low and vicious. 

Were he not that angry, he would have been delighted by the look of utter shock in her face, when the giant skeleton head was hit and thrown back like a rag doll. 

By a shikai. 

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” The woman screamed at the boy that landed on some rubble as the Bankai unceremoniosuly... popped. “Hebi!” She said, looking over him and reaching down to grab him by the ridiculously long-sleeved shirt he wore. She raised him to eye level. “Get yourself together, Hebi!” 

“S-S-Saru!” 

Zabimaru looked over her shoulder and tried to dodge, but she and he and they were too slow. Renji sank the sword to the hilt into her back and took advantage of the angle to spear the boy clean through as well. 

“We're _not_ done yet,” he said, pulling his zanpakuto back as they slid down the floor, staring at him with wide, wide eyes. “But when we are, we will have _words_ , you and I.” 

Renji stumbled back a little, feeling adrenaline and anger leave him as the fight was conclusively finished. 

“Renji!” Saru whispered, making as if to help steady her master's stance, but sat back as she realized it was unnecessary. 

Renji blinked as he found his back leaning against a solid body, and arm wrapped around his waist to keep him upright. He look sideways and found Byakuya looking utterly nonchalant. 

“Aren't you supposed to stay at the manor?” Renji snorted, as he relaxed by degrees, even though seeing his Division in fucking ruins was not helping with his mood. “Or do you just like watching me get my ass kicked?” 

Zabimaru felt like disagreeing with that statement. Because clearly, they thought, it wasn't Renji who'd gotten his ass kicked spectacularly. They thought it loud enough Renji had to have heard them, but he refused to say anything in acknowledgement. 

Zabimaru began to think that perhaps they had pushed a little bit too hard, for reasons they couldn't even really remember all that clearly anymore. 

“While there's a certain pleasure when I happen to be doing the kicking,” Byakuya murmured with the smallest smirk, “I simply couldn't resist the urge to see how it ended in person.” 

Renji frowned. 

“Why?” 

Zabimaru held very, very still on the ground, unsure of what was going to happen next, what with all the mess they'd made and which they were quickly growing to regret. They had no idea what was going on, and they weren't sure Renji would answer at the moment, if they asked outright. 

“Because I _adore_ watching you win,” Byakuya admitted, eyes glinting in a way that made Renji's face flush as bright as his hair. 

“Taicho!” A voice belonging to neither of them broke the moment, before Renji could put together a reply. They looked up to see Hotaru unsteadily standing up again, her expression relieved. “You're-” 

The sky darkened abruptly. 

“An incompetent zanpakuto fits an incompetent shinigami, Zabimaru, must I always finish the job for you?” 

And the last thing Hotaru saw of her Captain or her lieutenant was a torrent of sakura petals, each sharper than a sword, crashing down upon them. 

There weren't even bloodstains, in the crater left behind. 

  


* * *

  



	22. Deceit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the plot thickens.

  


* * *

  


XXII. Deceit. 

  


* * *

  


“The fireworks were not part of the plan,” Renji said, as some spectacular explosions echoed from the other side of Seireitei. 

He had Saru thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, held with one arm around her waist, while his other hand was clenched tightly onto the back of Hebi's shirt. Neither of them felt like asking what was going on, or saying much altogether, as Renji followed Byakuya, jumping from roof to roof with shunpo, heading back to the Kuchiki Estate. 

“Demolishing the Sixth was also not part of the plan,” Byakuya replied dryly, looking over his shoulder with an arched eyebrow and a small smirk, in the hopes Renji understood he wasn't technically chiding him for it. “A diversion was required.” 

“A diversion,” Renji said flatly, arching an eyebrow of his own, as below them on the street, shinigami rushed about to tend to the disaster in the Sixth and ran into others trying to tend to the apparent ongoing attack. 

All of them not once looking up. 

Renji made a mental note to amend the training of their unseated on that regard, once everything was over. 

“Kuukaku has a grudge against the Sugimoto and the Furusawa,” Byakuya sighed, offering a tiny not-shrug as they landed within the safety of the courtyard. “And they insulted my sister, when I sent her to warn them about this mess, so I'm not exactly heartbroken about the turn of events.” 

“Do you see this face?” Renji asked as he unceremoniously dropped his zanpakuto on the floor and pointed at his unamused expression with both index fingers. “This is my judging face. It means I'm judging you right now.” 

“She's not going to _kill_ anyone,” Byakuya said almost defensively, and made a point to roll his eyes. “She's just going to rack up a decent repairs bill to annoy them and in the process cover up our movements.” 

Saru choked on a cackle at that, while Hebi hissed a giggle. Renji looked down at them and glared darkly. 

“Something funny?” 

“Kinda?” Saru said, raising her hands placatingly. “That's sort of what _we_ did, in the Sixth.” 

Renji and Byakuya stared at them. 

“Well, we wanted a serious fight,” Hebi smirked, turning his hands palm side up and shrugging. At least, they thought that was the intent, the long sleeves of his shirt didn't allow his hands to be seen at all. “There's three ways we know, to make you fight seriously.” 

“Threaten Rukia, threaten your Captain, threaten your Division,” Saru went on, ticking off fingers. “Only, we're _you_. We care about Rukia and _this_ asshole as much as you do.” Byakuya made a noise of outrage in the back of his throat at the moniker, which dragged a reluctant chuckle out of Renji. Saru shrugged. “We also care a lot about the Sixth, enough to not want anyone dead, so nothing we broke can't be fixed.” 

“Mhm! We drew everyone in, knocked them out and then flattened the buildings for shits and giggles,” Hebi summarized nonchalantly. 

“Clearly, your plan worked _perfectly_ ,” Renji muttered, resisting the urge to bury his face into his hands. 

“In our defense, it seemed like a good idea at the time.” 

Byakuya cleared his throat. 

“Speaking of time...” 

“Right.” Renji ran a hand through his mussed up hair, pushing it back. He blinked a bit when Byakuya offered him a black bandanna without saying a word. Grateful for something to keep his stupid hair in check, Renji flashed him a smile and tied it up around his head, not bothering to wonder why Byakuya had it ready in the first place. “We're going to the Human world.” 

“You can barely stand,” Zabimaru snapped back in a chorus. 

“And whose fault is that?” Renji retorted, satisfied that his hair was mostly out of his face, even if it was mostly loose, and motioned Byakuya to lead the way back to the Kuchiki senkaimon. Zabimaru flinched, but followed after them. “Anyway, we're going to the Human world, and fetching reinforcements.” 

“Ichigo?” Hebi asked, blinking. 

A sour expression settled on both Byakuya and Renji's faces. 

“No,” the redhead said, mouth pressed into a thin line. “Not this time.” 

  


* * *

  


Hotaru took a moment to carefully swallow back the shriek building up in her throat, then closed her eyes, counted to ten, and then stalked to where Ukitake and Kyouraku were standing, overlooking the crater where she'd last seen her Captain and her lieutenant. 

She was the third seat of the Sixth Division, and currently the highest ranking member of it; it was hardly the time to break down to pieces over what she'd witnessed. 

“Ukitake-taicho, Kyouraku-taicho,” she said, approaching them at a brisk pace, jaw set firmly, “thank you for your quick response.” 

Only, not quick enough to help save my superiors, she didn't add, and hoped her thoughts weren't obvious in her tone. 

“Are you alright?” Ukitake asked, brow furrowed and expression overflowing with concern, but for the first time since she'd joined the Gotei 13, Hotaru found herself entirely unaffected by his charm. “Are you in charge?” 

“Thank you for your concern, sir, you needn't worry about me. I'm Misuzu Hotaru, third seat of the Sixth Division,” she replied, standing up straight, “under current circumstances, yes, I do believe I am in charge, Taicho.” 

“Hotaru-chan,” Kyouraku said, offering a smile and probably not meaning to sound nearly as condescending as Hotaru felt he did, “can you tell us what happened?” 

“Two unknown individuals attacked the main complex,” Hotaru said, in her most formal tone as she did her best to deliver the news clinically and without emotion. She was a soldier, after all. That's what soldiers did. “They disabled all shinigami present, mostly unseated and newest recruits, since the bulk of our forces are out securing the districts under our jurisdiction, as per Kuchiki-taicho's command. Abarai-fukutaicho arrived to fight the invaders and managed to subdue them. Kuchiki-taicho also arrived shortly thereafter, however a third unknown individual attacked and... Well. Kuchiki-taicho and Abarai-fukutaicho's whereabouts are currently unknown. The unidentified assailant left before you arrived, as his targets were clearly the Captain and the lieutenant.” 

She paused, then, the silence hanging slightly awkward, as she tried to put her thoughts together and figure out how to put to words what had transpired. After a moment, Kyouraku cleared his throat slightly. 

“That wasn't just it, though,” he said, with a look on his face that made Hotaru think back of Renji's vague warnings about things going wrong. “Was it?” 

“No,” Hotaru admitted, though she kept her eyes from narrowing out of sheer will alone. “The two individuals that attacked, a woman and a child, they summoned Abarai-fukutaicho's Bankai. And the attack that... the last attack before Kuchiki-taicho and Abarai-fukutaicho disappeared, it was Senbonzakura Kageyoshi.” 

“Are you certain of this?” Ukitake asked her, and Hotaru's patience snapped so clearly it should have made a sound. 

“Neither the Captain nor the lieutenant of the Sixth are shy about their Bankai,” she said, and though logically she should have regretted the words the moment they were out of her mouth, she found she didn't. After taking a moment to relish on the taken aback looks on both Captains, she offered a dispassionate shrug. “Will you be needing anything else?” 

“Thank you for your candor, Misuzu-san,” Kyouraku said, offering a small smile. “Clearly, the Sixth is in more than capable hands.” 

“There will be a Captain meeting this evening,” Ukitake added, voice conciliatory and soothing, though Hotaru was hardly in the mood to appreciate it, “I would heartily advice you to attend it, given the current circumstances.” 

“Should neither Kuchiki-taicho nor Abarai-fukutaicho be back by then,” Hotaru said, as if challenging them to voice out the heavy thought on everyone's mind, “of course I will.” 

But not, she thought, a tad hysterical beneath the veneer of scorned professionalism she was clinging to for her dear life, before I find Renji's booze stash. After all, Renji personally filed all paperwork relating to Byakuya's spars with Zaraki. 

The existence of that stash was as much a given as was the need for it. 

  


* * *

  


“You're an idiot,” Saru hissed, reaching to hold Renji steady as the senkaimon closed behind them and he allowed himself to drop on the ground. “An utter fucking idiot! Look at yourself! You can barely walk!” 

“Oh fuck off,” Renji grumbled, taking a moment to catch his breath as he finally felt all the scraps and bruises and broken bits from their fight crash in on him at once. 

“Du- _u_ -umbass,” Hebi sighed, reaching to poke the side of his head. “Trying to act all cool in front of your boyfriend... you could die, you know! We hit you really hard!” 

“He's not my _boyfriend_ ,” Renji snapped, scandalized. 

“Lover?” Hebi tried, grinning in delight as Renji blushed brightly and then squirming away from the hands that clearly wanted to throttle him into submission. “Paramour? Reason for living? Object of abject obsession? I can go on, y'know.” 

“ _Shut up!_ ” 

“God, you two are so _stupid_ ,” Saru snapped and then reached to punch both upside the head, none too gently either. “This isn't the time! Can you even stand?” 

“Maybe if you stop punching me?” Renji said snidely, rubbing his head while Hebi made tiny, whiny hisses at his side. “I'm-whoa!” 

“Shut up, you imminent disaster,” Saru growled, having maneuvered Renji onto her back with one sharp jerk. “We've established we don't want you dead, Renji, so kindly _stop trying to die_.” 

“I insist,” Renji muttered sulkily, reluctantly shifting until he was properly piggybacking off of her back, “whose fucking fault is it?” 

“Muramasa's,” Saru said, with an air of finality as she gripped his knees and ignored Renji trying to get her hair out of his face. “Let's see this stupid plan of yours to completion, so the entitled jerk gets his comeuppance.” 

They began running down the corridor again, heading towards the exit, when all of a sudden, Hebi stopped abruptly, stepping on the chain and causing Saru to trip and faceplant into the ground. Renji made a pained noise as his head bounced off the back of hers. 

“Wait!” 

“What now?” Came the irritable reply from both Renji and Saru. 

Hebi stared as his eyes grew, impossibly, even wider. 

“ _Did we just fake our own death?_ ” 

  


* * *

  


Kuukaku choked on a meanspirited laugh, just as Byakuya slid through the window into house. 

“Is there something worth laughing about?” He asked, eyes narrowed slightly and refusing to admit how naked he felt, without both his uniform and the kenseikan. 

“The fact you _still_ look like a wet noodle with your hair down, Bya-kun~” 

Byakuya offered a long-suffering glare and resisted the urge to pull the clothes tighter against him. Namie had given him a long, reproving look as he stepped out of his quarters and left standing orders for the upcoming days. And only partly, Byakuya was sure, because he was going to spend the upcoming days officially _dead_. Most of it was the fact he was wearing a servant's garb in plain gray, and the sight of him in such a state was positively offensive for his old retainer. 

Nonetheless, Byakuya trusted her and the rest of his household to hold the front and do what needed doing, to keep the charade going. 

Kuukaku had asked him if he was mad, telling the entire staff such a crucial part of their plan. Byakuya had looked at her in the eye and told her the same thing he'd told Renji: there were no secrets, in the manor. 

Kuukaku was not Renji, though. 

Kuukaku had narrowed her eyes and asked why. Because it was Kuukaku, and beneath the weight of his debt to her, Byakuya was still helplessly fond of her and she knew it, he hadn't murdered her on the spot. Instead, he had enjoyed his last proper meal in his home and told Kuukaku the story as a way to not think about Renji, half-dead and too stubborn to admit it, rushing headfirst to the Human world to put their plan in motion. 

Kuukaku had then reminded Byakuya why he was so terribly fond of her, when at the end of his tale, rather than an unwanted witticism, she announced loudly that it was time to get to work. 

She understood, after all, that while Byakuya trusted his servants, they had earned every ounce of it. 

Nothing else needed to be said. 

“It would be impolite,” Byakuya replied, going to sit by her side, “to tell you what you look like.” 

“Is this how you're planning to kill time?” Kuukaku wondered, amused when Byakuya twitched at the bad pun. “Snarking at me?” 

“I do not snark,” Byakuya retorted, utterly deadpan, “such uncouthness is unfitting of one of my standing.” 

“Considering the alternative is you moping about your redhead pet?” Kuukaku arched both eyebrows, grinning as Byakuya glared at her. 

“He's not a _pet,_ ” he snapped, interrupting her. 

“Yeah, I'll take the uncouthness.” 

  


* * *

  


“ _Interesting_ ,” Mayuri mused, in a tone that made everyone else in the room repress a reflexive flinch. “So very interesting.” 

The Kuchiki senkaimon had been opened, but there was no trace of anyone going through it. Of course there were... precautions to keep such a thing out the reach of the Gotei 13. After all, it was private property belonging to one of the Fourth Noble families. But Mayuri had never really cared much about that, and after hearing how Byakuya had circumvented his orders, during the war, he had found a way around such obstacles. 

“And you say you verified the data?” Mayuri asked, looking over at Akon with a demanding glare that was not in the least lessened by his zanpakuto perched happily on his head. “Thoroughly?” 

“Twice,” Akon replied. “There's nothing there.” 

“Interesting,” Mayuri insisted, and then grinned in a way that had given nightmares to the members of his Division – for the first month or so they'd served in it. After all, one could quite literally grow used to anything. “Someone fetch me that dimwit from the Fifth.” 

There was a small pause. 

“Er. Hirako-taicho?” Akon asked, because apparently having served Mayuri the longest somehow always gave people the impression he was somehow immune to the worst of their Captain's temper. 

Mayuri gave him a look that insulted his intelligence quite eloquently. 

“Are there any _other_ dimwits in the Fifth?” 

For the sake of peace and his own sense of self-preservation, Akon decided to take that as a rhetoric question and thus refused to answer it. 

  


* * *

  


“Yo, Kurosaki-san.” 

Isshin looked up to the sound of his name, and then squinted mightily as he could barely make out Renji's outline, standing by the doorway. That was new, considering it hadn't been his spiritual power that had been sacrificed for the sake of defeating Aizen. Even without a gigai, he should have been perfectly capable of perceiving Renji's form. 

“You look like shit, kid,” he joked, because what blurry bits he could see had entirely too much red for it to be just Renji's hair. “What ha-” 

And then Isshin's eyes found the bandanna, just for a split second before it flickered out of sight again, and his expression changed so abruptly Renji half expected him to attack him. 

“Stop trying to hide your spiritual pressure,” Isshin ordered sharply, so sharply Renji remembered all of a sudden that the man had been a Captain, once. 

As it was, the moment Renji stopped concentrating on keeping his presence hidden as Byakuya had told him to, Isshin's vision was suddenly crystal clear. It wasn't very promising, all things considered. The redhead did look like someone had lovingly beaten him into a pulp, and he certainly had no business prowling around the Human world like that. 

“Kuchiki-taicho sent me,” Renji explained unnecessarily, holding an arm wrapped around his middle, and stubbornly refusing to acknowledge every bruised and broken bit of his body. He was at the last stretch of his mission, and the closer to completing it he got, the harder it seemed to get. 

“That's painfully obvious,” Isshin deadpanned, then rolled his eyes when Renji startled at his tone. “Who else would have given you that?” He asked, nodding at the black cloth holding most of Renji's hair in place. 

“Huh?” 

Isshin refrained from rolling his eyes again, at the look of sheer incomprehension in Renji's eyes. Typical Byakuya, that. To send the poor man over with that thing and not even bother to explain how it worked. 

“C'mon,” he said, reaching a hand to bodily pull Renji into the clinic. “I still remember some of Unohana-taicho's lessons, let me patch you up.” 

Renji allowed himself to be manhandled mostly because his brain fizzled a little at the implications of that little quip. It had been meant as reassuring, he thought, but it was just the opposite. Then he gathered his wits and jerked back, falling back into step with his mission. 

“There's no time for that,” Renji said, expression somber. 

“There's always enough time to not let you _die_ ,” Isshin snapped back, giving in and rolling his eyes once more. 

Of course Renji was his nephew's lieutenant. He was stubborn enough to handle such an assignment. 

“You don't understand,” Renji insisted, then took a deep breath as he gathered his wits. “The Willow weeps again. Kuchiki-taicho said-” 

But Renji found himself sprawled on the ground, his entire face throbbing and his pitiful attempt at explaining the situation withering in his throat. Isshin stared at his fist in wonder, as if it had been someone else's hand that raised up and punched Renji hard enough to drop him to the ground. 

“-that you'd know what that means,” Renji finished a little lamely, rubbing his cheek and wondering if he was just gonna add another broken bit to his current list. 

“I do,” Isshin said, expression indifferent in a way eerily reminiscent of Byakuya's during a rage, and Renji wondered absently if all nobles were taught how to pull it off from a young age. Maybe there was training for it. “Go sit on the table, we're leaving as soon as you're properly patched up.” 

“But-” 

Isshin glared. 

“ **Now** _ **.**_ ” 

Renji went. 

He hoped Zabimaru had better luck with _their_ mission. 

  


* * *

  


“Are you sure it didn't laugh?” Urahara teased, studying the curious pair with a small smirk. He had an inkling of what exactly they were, and if so, the thought was rather entertaining. He had no intention of letting Renji live it down, either. “After all, they are called _weeping_ willows, so-” 

“Kisuke.” Urahara blinked at the sheer frostiness behind Yoruichi's voice. “Shut up and go open the doorway.” 

And because Urahara Kisuke was not, despite it all, an idiot, he shut his fan and his mouth, and shuffled away to do as Yoruichi commanded. 

Hebi cowered somewhat behind Saru, as temperature seemed to legitimately drop all of a sudden. 

“Now,” Yoruichi said, eyes flat and murderous as she offered them a paper thin smile. “Why don't you start over from the beginning?” 

  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! I was sick for a bit there and it wasn't very conductive to writing.


	23. Off-balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mayuri is well-prepared, Isshin tells Renji a story, and Muramasa makes his move.

  


* * *

  


XXIII. Off-balance. 

  


* * *

  


“Can I...” Renji stopped, wincing and weighting his words, before he swallowed hard. “Can I ask what's going on?” 

Isshin clicked his tongue in annoyance as he watched Renji's skin slowly knit itself back together. It was taking a while, but he knew the kid could fight, and they were going to need all the fighters they could, when they got back to Soul Society. He could spare the energy to get the boy back to his feet, and considering he'd already reconquered his zanpakuto, he would be an important asset in the fight head. 

“Let me guess,” Isshin said, sighing in resignation. “Byakuya didn't tell you anything.” 

“There... uh, there kinda wasn't much time for him to do it,” Renji said, feeling like he had to stand up for his Captain, considering the chiding tone. “Senbonzakura caught us all by surprise,” he lied, and felt vaguely disturbed by how easily the lie came to him, as if the more he repeated it the more truthful it became. “He just shoved me away, told me to hide my spiritual pressure and find you. He said you'd know what's going on.” He paused, looking over his shoulder and resisting the urge to shiver at the dead serious look in Isshin's eyes. “So... do you?” 

“I do. The zanpakuto you met, the one who stole away your own, his name is Muramasa, the one who whispers,” Isshin explained, frowning. “He was sealed away, two hundred years ago, apart but at the same time as his master, Kuchiki Koga, the ruin of all Great Noble houses.” He snorted. “Though I suppose you could also call him my personal greatest failure, too, seeing how I created that monster.” 

Renji opened his mouth to splutter a question, but one good look at Isshin's face had him reconsidering very quickly. 

“But I suppose you might as well hear the long story, since _someone_ should know it, and the vow of secrecy doesn't technically stretch outside Soul Society,” he said, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. “What _do_ you know?” 

Renji opened his mouth to say nothing at all, but then frowned. He wasn't told to lie about everything, and he'd lied enough as it was. 

“Kuchiki-taicho told me a story, once,” he admitted, looking away because he didn't know what his face looked like or what he was giving away with it, “about a man who massacred the Great Noble families, two hundred years ago. A man the Kuchiki embraced as their own, and who betrayed them in the end.” 

“That's what he was told, I imagine,” Isshin chuckled bitterly, “but that's hardly all there is to it. It started long before that, you see? When my father saved Byakuya's grandfather's life, many, many years ago. It was the start of a life long friendship, that, and what would later convince them that trying to join our families together would be a good idea.” 

Renji listened with rapt attention, eyes wide, and wondered, not for the first time, just how old Isshin really was. 

“My father had three children, then, my older sister, Akane, myself, and my baby brother Kohaku, who had just been born, when this mad idea of theirs came to being. Ginrei had twins, a boy and a girl, so it was decided that my sister would marry his heir, Soujun, while I would marry the girl, Tsubaki. Only fair, right? A bride for a bride...” Isshin's voice twitched with contempt. “Except Tsubaki didn't love me, which, to be fair, was not a requirement, but she did love a young, tempestuous boy who'd joined the Gotei 13 in hopes of gaining enough prestige to dare ask for her hand.” Isshin let out a drawn out breath, not quite a sigh, as his voice turned wistful. “One needed to be made of stone, to not be moved by the way she looked at him. I sure as hell wasn't, so I sponsored the match. It went against tradition and honor and probably a few outdated laws, but to hell with it. Even Ginrei, prickly, stuck up bastard that he was, came around eventually, and fifty years after my sister's wedding, Tsubaki married her spirited boy. Only, he wasn't quite a boy, by then. In fifty years, Tsubaki and her brother, and my sister and myself, we taught him all we could. How to speak, how to stand, even how to fight. He transferred into Ginrei's Sixth Division, and the old man had no choice but to grant him the 3rd seat, and soon after, his daughter's hand. Everyone was happy, really, except for a good chunk of the lesser Shiba houses who saw my dissolved betrothal as an unspeakable offense to the Shiba name, and when my father, hallowed Head of the Shiba Clan, would not do something about it, they decided to do something themselves.” 

“The Forty day rebellion,” Renji realized, timeline falling into place inside his head. 

“Oho _ho_ , well, someone's well read,” Isshin teased, amused as Renji's face blushed bright scarlet. “Though I doubt you read anything involving the Shiba in there.” 

“Well, no,” Renji shrugged. “But it'd explain the scope. I'm from the Rukongai, and the Rukongai hasn't changed much, in a couple centuries. No one would have the resources to lay siege to the Seireitei, plus the fact the Gotei 13 didn't outright crush the rebellion all at once always seemed weird to me. But if the rebels were members of one of the Great Noble families...” 

“The Gotei 13 did not have the authority to prosecute them directly, not until my father was done trying to talk them out of their nonsense and disowned them all,” Isshin went on, nodding in approval, which made Renji look away again, embarrassed. “Because Genrei was Captain of the Sixth as well as Head of the Kuchiki clan, not to mention personal and dear friend of my father, it was his Division that was tasked with subduing the rebellion.” 

Renji felt strange, imagining the Sixth as anything other than what he knew, under Byakuya's command. There weren't many shinigami left, from that time, oddly enough. Fifty years wasn't that long, all things considered, but pretty much everyone he could think of, in the Sixth, had come to it after that. One Kuchiki mystery at the time, Renji told himself, resisting the urge to wince. 

“Koga's performance was outstanding, for all he was the very source of the conflict. But he became a different man, after all was said and done.” Isshin looked almost sad. “I don't know if it was having tangible proof of how much some people hated him. Maybe it was all the power that went to his head, because he was a damn force to be reckoned with, by the time we were done training him. Or he was always just a rotten son of a bitch and we never noticed, because Tsubaki loved him and we wanted to believe no one she loved could be a monster.” 

“He betrayed you...” 

“Worse,” Isshin said, a dark, grim smile on his face, “he made us betray each other.” Renji stared. “You've seen the extent of his shikai, forcefully materializing his opponent's zanpakuto and forcing them to fight their masters. But his Bankai...” Isshin closed his eyes. “His Bankai put a compulsion in your head. An irresistible need to do as he'd commanded, no matter what. And he only wanted one thing, by that point, to see those that had scorned him, the Great Noble families, _burn_.” 

  


* * *

  


Momo made a noise of surprise when Kurotsuchi-taicho reached out in the middle of her Captain's drawling greeting and unceremoniously stabbed him in the chest with a syringe. 

“...okay, first of all? Ow,” Shinji said, glowering as Mayuri pulled back and discarded the syringe without even looking. “Second of all? _Fuck you_ ,” he went on, when the eccentric Captain of the Twelfth simply turned around and headed deeper into the lab. “Third and most important, though: _**ow**_ , what the fuck, Mayuri?” 

“Oh, cease your whining,” Mayuri said, not bothering to look at Shinji as he rummaged around a table piled on high with papers. “It's a prophylactic.” 

“ _Condoms_ are prophylactics,” Shinji snarled, rubbing his chest as he glared. “And frankly, after that shit? Your chances of getting laid? None existent right now.” 

Momo resisted the urge to squeak in mortification, but bravely refused to flee – which would be sensible, really, Akon probably had the right idea about their Captains'... spats – at least not until she was sure her Captain wasn't going to randomly keel over. Or end up prickled in a labeled jar, somewhere. 

“You truly are an irritating creature,” Mayuri pointed out, looking unamused. “Think for once, you dimwitted moron, given your hollowfication, what will happen if Muramasa takes control of your zanpakuto?” 

Shinji blinked. 

Then he winced. 

“Okay yeah, that... that'd be...” He shuddered. “You're still not getting laid though.” 

“The tragedy,” Mayuri deadpanned, so hard Momo looked at the walls on reflex, expecting the paint to start peeling spontaneously. “The serum should inhibit Sakanade's ability to materialize, and in turn render Muramasa's attempts to control her useless. Now,” he added, giving Shinji a look over his shoulder, “bring me the other two, so I can move on to the next project.” 

Shinji tried to imagine Rose or Kensei ever willingly setting foot in the Twelfth and found he was entirely too sober to consider it. And then he tried to imagine how they'd react to having Mayuri... well, being Mayuri. 

“Yeah, how about you give me the serum and I administer it instead?” He asked, one eyebrow arched. “All offense intended, but no one likes getting vaccines from you, Mayuri.” 

“Don't be stupid, it's not a _vaccine_ ,” Mayuri argued, completely missing the point in what Shinji would perhaps be inclined to consider an endearing fashion, if he weren't already ticked off as it was. “Vaccines are... oh why do I even bother?” He trailed off, shaking his head. He shoved two vials of sickly green liquid and a pair of bagged syringes into Shinji's hands. “Don't break them, because I will not be making more.” When Shinji merely rolled his eyes, Mayuri scoffed. “Now get out of my face, I have work to do.” 

Momo lingered perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary, studying Mayuri's back as he sank into his work and disappeared behind his desk. Then she decided she absolutely, positively didn't want to know, and set out to follow her Captain to do his errands. 

  


* * *

  


Zaraki interrupted the dramatic moment by being, well, Zaraki. 

Also half an hour late, to the Captain meeting. 

When he finally arrived, Yachiru on his shoulder and Yumichika and Ikkaku at his back, he found the Captain meeting hadn't even started. Which was a first. The reason seemed to be the skinny git with the long nails and the Arrancar-like clothes, standing in front of a group of weirdos that looked vaguely familiar. Across the garden outside the First, Zaraki's fellow Captains and their lieutenants stood close together, zanpakuto at the ready. 

“Yo,” Zaraki told no one in particular, “don't tell me I missed the fun?” 

“On the contrary,” Muramasa drawled, eying him predatorily as he raised a hand in his direction, reaching out for something deep inside him, “you were exp-” 

Except he didn't finish the sentence, as he stepped back, concentration broken, and barely avoided being cleaved in half by Yachiru's sword. 

Zaraki blinked, posture changing instantly into something almost relaxed, while the rest of the shinigami present shifted nervously. It was as if they all suddenly remembered that she was lieutenant of the Eleventh, and not just because she was the Captain's adopted daughter, but because no one had ever beaten her to the seat since she'd taken it. It still made Zaraki thoughtful, nonetheless, because Yachiru enjoyed watching him fight, but rarely fought herself unless it was to defend her seat or torment the unseated into toughening up. 

Her taking the initiative meant things were bound to be interesting, at the very least. 

“People like you are the absolute worst,” Yachiru said, eyes wide and childlike while her reiatsu howled in vicious pink all around her. “So please just die, okay?” 

Muramasa clicked his tongue in annoyance, ignoring the gash she'd cut from shoulder to hip, and leaped back behind the line of released zanpakuto to escape her. 

Then hell broke loose, as they closed in not just on her, but on every shinigami on sight. 

Zaraki found himself blocking a hit from a hooded figure with the telltale stench of blood clinging to her, about the same time Unohana shunpo'd between them and blocked the strike alongside him. 

“No,” Unohana said, voice frosty and expression so murderous the fight might have ended abruptly right then and there, if everyone else had had the chance to notice. “ _Minatsuki_.” 

“I'll take him,” her zanpakuto whispered, as the blade in her hand began to sizzle against theirs, “if you're too scared to do it yourself. I'll take him and it shall be _glorious_.” 

Zaraki laughed, and it set the tone for the rest of the evening. 

  


* * *

  


Zabimaru struggled to keep up with Yoruichi, but they made their best effort to hide it. They eyed Urahara a bit warily, if only because _the entire fucking Seireitei seemed to be on fire_ , and the guy was still wearing that same placid stupid smile of his and it was creepy beyond words. 

“Shouldn't we...” Saru began, wondering if she was going to get yelled at for speaking up, “you know, _help?_ ” 

“With the fire and destruction and stuff?” Hebi offered, helpfully. 

“No,” Yoruichi snapped, not looking back, “we've got bigger things to worry about.” 

  


* * *

  


In the end, by the time Isshin had finished patching up Renji – although “patching up” didn't do it justice, Renji felt ready for round two, so that little quip about learning from Unohana was stored away in his brain to freak about later, when he had the time to contemplate the massive mystery that was Kurosaki-though-now-he-looked-all-Shiba Isshin – it had been late enough that he'd instead decided they couldn't leave just then. He'd said he had things to organize, to prepare for his absence, and Renji felt like an absolute heel when he remembered the twins and Ichigo, and promised instead to be ready when Isshin gave the word. 

It was mid morning, when he finally opened the senkaimon, which always struck him as a lot less dramatic when done during the day. 

“What's your plan?” Isshin asked, as they ran down the corridor. “What are you going to do now?” 

“Lay low for a bit, I guess,” Renji admitted with a half shrug, because after all Isshin had told him, he felt he had to reciprocate at least a little. “Technically I'm dead, I think, considering how I got out last time. So I might use that to my advantage. Take stock of things and take the information to someone who'll know what to do with it, you know?” 

“Don't get killed, Renji,” Isshin said after a moment, as the doorway appeared in the distance. When Renji spluttered a little and gave him a wide-eyed look, Isshin smirked. “I'm gonna beat you black and blue if you make my nephew cry, kid. Twice, if it was because you were dumb enough to die on him.” 

But by the time Renji managed to stop choking on his tongue and articulate a half-way coherent reply, Isshin crossed the doorway and disappeared without looking back. 

  


* * *

  


“Shame I won't be able to make Kuchiki-hime pay for this one,” Zaraki said, leaning his weight against the remnants of a wall. “Yumichika's gonna blow a gasket as it is.” 

His only reply was the echo of Uoahana's breath, short and loud, as she held onto the hilt of her zanpakuto with white knuckles, kneeling over Minatsuki's skewered form. Zaraki waited ten breaths, before he pushed himself off the wall, and then another two while he basked in every inch of his body aching like a _bitch_. He walked over to where she was, and reached a hand to hold her shoulder, but he never touched her. He stared at her, expression impassive, as he felt the edge of her sword press gently against the side of his throat. Her eyes were narrowed and the scar on his face throbbed in recognition, and for one eternal moment, he wondered what would happen if he leaped into the gaping maw of the unknown that spread before him. 

Then the moment passed, and he dropped his own zanpakuto, letting it clatter at her feet. 

“Pick it up,” Unohana said, eyes burning with murderous zeal as the past bubbled up to the surface in the wake of their marathon fight against her zanpakuto. “Pick it up,” she snarled, when Zaraki gave a step forward, throat sliding against her sword and causing blood to run down the length of it, from the tiny, warning cut along his neck, “and _fight_.” 

“No,” he said, eyes shrewd as he knocked her sword away with one hand and reached out with the other to tilt up her face. “Not yet.” 

“Zaraki-” 

“ _Not yet_ ,” he insisted, as he leaned in until they were breathing the same air. “Someday, but not today. Not until we're done, you and I.” 

For a moment, she imagined herself wrenching her hands down and sideways, the resistance of his flesh and bone for the split second before it gave in and her sword cut through. She imagined his head rolling down at her feet, the gush of blood that would surely follow and the precise angle it would shower her, from where she stood. 

And then the moment passed, and she was once more Unohana Retsu, Captain of the Fourth. 

When she let go of her own sword to wrap her arms around his neck, his own found their way around her back, and then he was kissing her or she was biting him or both. 

Most importantly, though, they were no longer standing on that edge. 

  


* * *

  



	24. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuya continues to be an emotionally stunted moron, Renji is out of his depth, things keep happening too much, and everyone needs to decide how to handle it.

  


* * *

  


XXIV. Choices. 

  


* * *

  


“So...” 

Renji watched the trio sprawled inside the tiny hut with something like exasperated embarrassment. Although to say Byakuya was sprawling felt almost insulting on principle, yet his posture was certainly more slouched than Renji could ever remember it being. He had changed into different clothes from what Renji had last seen: the same, simple garb of a servant at the manor, in muted, unremarkable gray that clashed strangely with the kenseikan now adorning his hair. Yoruichi was sitting at his left, legs folded and expression amused, while Kuukaku was sitting at his right, gourd in hand and smirk sharp enough Renji fully expected to spontaneously cut himself on it. Their clothes didn't look any different than Renji remembered, either, but there was a bundle of jeweled, crystal-like feathers hanging off Kuukaku's hair, behind her left ear, while Yoruichi's usual ponytail was decorated with a pair of golden pins with trails of delicate leaves dangling off the tips. 

“Now what?” Renji asked lamely, feeling like he clearly shouldn't be in their company, for some reason. 

“Now we wait,” Yoruichi said, as if it was obvious, arching an eyebrow at Renji's poor attempts to hide his discomfort. 

When no further answer seemed forthcoming, Renji swallowed hard. 

“For...?” 

“Lunch,” Kuukaku informed him, eyes glinting in amusement, “ _obviously_.” 

“Lunch?” Renji repeated, stupidly, as he felt sweat sliding down the back of his neck. 

“It is traditional,” Byakuya said, in his usual bored monotone, though his eyes glinted just so, that Renji was sure he was laughing at him. “In such a situation.” 

“ _Lunch_ ,” Renji repeated, feeling his temper begin to simmer under his skin. 

“Exactly!” Yoruichi grinned at him, delighted. “And would you look at that, it just arrived.” 

“My, oh my, we thought you wouldn't come, Abarai-kun,” Urahara said as he stepped into the hut, “what kept you?” 

Renji stared as Zabimaru walked in after the smirking blond, arms laded with trays full of... lunch. 

“Renji!” They said, tired expressions melting into relief at the sight of him so swiftly, that Renji had to wonder what his zanpakuto might have endured in his absence. 

“Seriously?” Renji asked no one in particular, as Urahara pointed with his fan where Saru and Hebi were meant to drop their cargo. “Seriously. Hasn't any of you noticed that half the fucking Seireitei seems to be in ruins?” 

“Renji,” Byakuya said, in a chiding tone, as if he were speaking out of turn, and the redhead felt his blood pressure spike in reply. 

“Of course we've noticed,” Kuukaku replied, that dangerously sharp grin widening viciously. “Why do you think we're here, kid?” 

“Lunch?” Renji snarked back, unable to help himself and finding just a tiny spark of vindictive pleasure in the slight frown Byakuya gave him. “Obviously.” 

“It's not every day the ruling Heads of three of the Great Noble families sit down to talk, you know?” Yoruichi informed him, and Renji felt himself shiver under the scrutiny of her stare. “There are rules for this kind of thing.” 

“Later, Renji,” Byakuya said, with a glint in his eye that made Renji want to kiss him but a tone that also made him want to strangle him for it. 

Renji opened his mouth to say something, then closed it when everything that came to mind sounded stupid even to himself. Instead he stood by as Urahara set out everything Zabimaru had brought, frowning, and then let himself be lead away by the smirking blond once he was done. 

He looked over his shoulder before he exited the hut, and found that Byakuya's expression was no longer teasing. Indeed, all three sat around the meal looked solemn and serious. Lunch, it seemed, was going to be much more than just that. 

“Now what?” Renji asked again, as Urahara went to sit next to a small fire a few yards away. 

“Strictly speaking, nothing,” he said, as he rummaged about to set a pot of water to boil. “At least not until they've got the official business out of the way.” 

“If I ask why, are you going to make me feel like an idiot?” Renji mused, slowly walking over to sit with him, and absently noting how Zabimaru kept their distance from him as much as possible. 

“Not at all!” Urahara said, grinning. “Just this once, mind you.” He added with a conspiratorial grin that made Renji resist the urge to sigh warily. “They're summoning a conclave of sorts: by pooling their authority as Heads of the Great Noble families together they can overrule... well, pretty much anything short of the Soul King himself. It's a very rare thing, you must understand, I do believe the last one was two hundred years ago. So they must follow the script to the letter, or it will not be binding.” 

“And that's why they're having lunch,” Renji said a little dryly, shaking his head. 

“And why you should start saving up some patience,” Urahara replied, grinning as he tilted his head to hide half his face under his hat. “This is a hallowed ritual, Abarai-fukutaicho, it'll take them three days and their meals, at the very least, to see it through.” 

“Three days!” Renji exclaimed, dumbstruck. 

“Traditionally, it should be ten,” Urahara said, grinning unrepentantly as Renji spluttered, “but given the Furusawa and the Sugimoto are not present, they're bending the rules a little. Just a little, mind, these things need to be done properly.” 

Renji sighed and decided not to share what he thought about proper things, just then. 

  


* * *

  


“I feel like I'm not old enough to sit at the grownup table,” Isshin said as he approached the three old men sitting by the fire, sharing tea. 

“Shiba Isshin,” Yamamoto snapped, eyes narrowed ever so slightly in a truly terrifying way. “Perhaps after we are done here, we might have words.” 

“Yeeeeeah, how about no?” Isshin replied, feeling sweat sliding heavily down the back of his neck. 

“Oh, stop tormenting the poor child,” Ginrei snorted into his tea, rolling his eyes. “It's hardly the time.” 

“But he's so... _tormentable_ ,” the small, grinning man sitting on the left said, golden eyes gleaming in amusement. “It's one of his best qualities.” 

“It's very good to see you too, Kuchiki-sama, Shihouin-sama...” Isshin muttered awkwardly, seriously reconsidering his stake in the whole mess. “Though I'd prefer it be in better circumstances.” 

“ _Bull_ shit,” Shihouin Matsuda singsonged, with a grin that demonstrated where exactly his daughter had learned it. “Three kids, Isshin. _Three_. Are you godfather to any, Ginrei?” 

“No.” 

“Neither am I,” Matsuda went on, shaking his head in mock-despair. “We had to wait until one of them waltzed in and literally saved the world, to find out you'd spawned, Isshin. That's cold.” 

“...well, you know,” Isshin said, waving a hand dismissively, “things happen, sometimes.” 

“ _Things_ ,” Ginrei repeated, with the full weight of the entire Kuchiki bloodline's propensity for disdain neatly packed into the word. 

“Can I at least have some tea?” Isshin wondered. 

“No.” 

  


* * *

  


“You're terrible at being illicit, just so you know,” Shinji said, sitting on the edge of a roof, feet swinging slightly as he leaned forward to stare at his lieutenant. “We'll need to work on it, at some point.” 

“Hirako-taicho,” Momo muttered, freezing in place as she looked up at him. “I-” 

She looked guiltily in the direction where she'd felt Tobiume's reiatsu coming from, all but calling to her, and shrunk somewhat under her Captain's calculating stare. 

“We all have to do what we have to do,” Shinji went on, philosophical, leaning an elbow on a knee and resting his chin on his hand. His smile seemed sharper than usual though. “Is this something you have to do yourself?” 

Momo opened her mouth, ready to justify herself. There was a curfew in place, what with the recent attacks and the Captain Commander still missing and rogue zanpakuto appearing out of nowhere and catching groups of shinigami by surprise. Civilians were terrified and demanding answers, and the closest thing to an agreement the Captains seemed to have reached was to focus on defense and shelter as many people as possible within their barracks, at least until it all blew over. 

But then Momo realized she wasn't being asked for a justification. It had taken a while, admittedly, but she had realized that her new Captain always said what he meant, literally, and half the time he amused himself watching people build up supposed meanings and interpretations out of his words. Just like he was doing right that moment, as he grinned at her and the slight widening of her eyes. 

“Yes,” Momo said instead, standing up straight. 

Shinji hummed as he nodded approvingly, and Momo felt they'd closed the gap tentatively stretching between them just a little bit more. He was her Captain, after all, but not _her_ Captain. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But he was trying, and so was she. 

“Do you want back up?” Shinji asked, and Momo fixated on him saying want, rather than _need_. 

“I'll be alright,” she replied, shaking her head slightly. “I can handle this.” 

“Of that, I have no doubt,” her Captain mused with a wide grin, not in the least bit solemn and yet somehow all the more because of it. “But do remember handling it alone is a choice, not a necessity.” He then stuck his left pinkie into his ear and started scratching. “Also I will eat through your chocolate stash if you take too long.” 

Momo resisted the urge to laugh. 

“I don't have a chocolate stash, Hirako-taicho.” 

“Nonsense,” Shinji grinned, “everyone _needs_ a chocolate stash. If you don't, then I'll just get you one and _then_ I'll eat it.” 

“I'm going to go now,” Momo sighed, shaking her head. “Hirako-taicho.” 

Shinji watched her go and waited until she vaulted over the wall to let his mouth drop into a thin, unamused line. She was hardly completely recovered from everything she'd gone through, and he knew that very well. Mayuri never missed an opportunity to complain about Momo being up and about when she clearly wasn't ready, and how all his hard work would be for nothing, so he categorically refused to bother saving the girl again if all she was going to do was throw her life away out of misguided pride. He was positively certain he was bound to get yelled at by quite a few of his fellow Captains, including their resident child genius, who never failed to give Shinji suspicious, frosty glares whenever the topic of his lieutenant came up. 

But Shinji was pragmatic. 

Sometimes, you needed to do something unwise and senseless and positively suicidal to put yourself back together. Sometimes the most helpful thing one could do was step back and let it play out as it should. 

And to be honest, Hinamori Momo looked most of the time like someone who'd been coddled to the point she sometimes doubted her own ability. So much so, she always set out to work twice as hard to make up for it. Pride, Mayuri called it, with that derisive tone of his that never failed to make Shinji roll his eyes. But only because Mayuri failed to grasp the concept that sometimes pride was as vital as air. 

His lieutenant had survived Aizen, and in many ways more than anyone ever gave her credit for. Shinji had little doubt she'd survive a little scuffle to reaffirm her sense of self, after that. 

  


* * *

  


“You're upset.” 

Renji startled a little at the sound of Byakuya's voice and looked up to find him standing a few steps away, frowning. He was sitting with his back against a tree, facing away from the little hut where Byakuya and the others were performing their weird Noble Family ceremony stuff, ostensibly keeping watch. Hebi was curled up on Renji's lap, snoring blissfully, while Saru was lying on one of the branches of the tree, arms folded behind her head. 

Byakuya was struck by how comfortable the three of them looked with each other, despite all that had happened, but he supposed it was just Renji being... well, Renji. 

Heavens knew Byakuya wasn't exactly sure he'd ever feel comfortable cuddling with Senbonzakura like that. 

“I'm being stupid,” Renji corrected him, expression wry. “You said all this was important and shit, and I trust you, but I feel kind of useless here.” 

“Why?” Byakuya asked, frown deepening somewhat. 

After all, he reckoned Renji should feel honored to be allowed to participate in such a hallowed ritual. He wasn't needed, strictly speaking, but that only showed how much Byakuya trusted him, allowing him to be there. Byakuya could have simply gone through this plan without Renji's input – had, in fact, been planning to do exactly that, up until he remembered how angry Renji always got, whenever he did things without explaining them – but he had chosen instead to include his lieutenant because... 

Well, because they were a _team_ , as much as Byakuya would loathe to voice something so childish. 

They were stronger together than on their own, and Byakuya realized at some point that he trusted Renji implicitly, as terrifying as the concept was. 

“Because we're talking and eating and stuff,” Renji replied, clearly unhappy, “and everyone else thinks we're _dead_.” 

“That's-” 

“The Sixth is in ruins,” Renji went on, scowling, “and now those guys have to keep it together on their own. And you know they will, because they're from the Sixth, but it's shitty as all fuck and I feel like a jerk sitting here, doing nothing, while I know they're struggling.” He looked miserable enough it gave Byakuya pause. “I don't know how much good I'd do, if I were there, but shit, I could at least do something for morale.” 

“You are a fundamentally honest creature, Renji,” Byakuya said after a moment, revising his intentions to go sit with him and instead stepping back. “And I am... not.” 

“Taicho?” Renji asked, watching Byakuya's expression freeze over into indifference he could now recognize as forced. 

“Do as you feel best, Abarai-fukutaicho,” Byakuya said blandly, turning around and walking back to the hut. “You always do, anyway.” 

“Tch,” Renji hissed, feeling a childish urge to pick up a fight rather than just let him go. 

“Let him do things his way,” Saru said, not looking down at Renji as she pretended to go on sleeping. “We'll just have to show him that our way is better.” 

Hebi snored again, without a care in the world. Annoyed and uncomfortable, Renji resigned himself to a long night without sleep and refused to acknowledge the offer in her words. 

  


* * *

  


“He will be back,” Isshin observed, lowering his sword as Muramasa leaped away and vanished into the thick fog surrounding them. 

The unruly zanpakuto had been quite surprised when he found that although he could force their zanpakuto to materialize, all four of them were not at all inclined to lash out at their owners as the ones he had released lately must have. All that had taken to make Muramasa retreat had been Ryoujin Jakka's wide, murderous grin, in stark contrast to the thunderous scowl on Yamamoto's face. 

“The sky is blue,” Ginrei's Konohana deadpanned, hiding her face behind a fan. “Water is wet.” 

Isshin twitched as he leveled a veiled glower at the smug-looking woman and her regal kimono, but found Genrei's expression as unamused as ever, betraying nothing. He wondered if there was a law written somewhere, that old, powerful shinigami all had zanpakuto that most assuredly did not match their public persona, but wisely decided to keep the quip to himself. 

“The seal still holds,” Matsuda said instead, shaking his head slightly. “That's all that matters.” 

“We will know for sure, once the fog allows us passage,” Yamamoto mused, face dark, and Isshin reckoned that after Aizen, it would be a very long time before the Captain Commander took anything at face value or felt comfortable assuming without concrete proof. 

“It should be a day or two more, at the most,” Ginrei pointed out, staring at the yawning wall of fog that shrouded the heart of the erstwhile Shiba estate. “The fog is as fickle as the man who conjured it,” he added, giving Isshin a pointed look. 

Isshin looked away, instinctively mimicking the posture of the lumbering, flame-furred ape at his side. 

“Don't see me judging what you do with _your_ land, do you?” He snorted. “And besides, fickle or not, no one's found their way through before, have they?” 

Ginrei gave him a long suffering glare. 

“Tea?” Matsuda asked Yamamoto, smirk hanging off his mouth with ease. 

Yamamoto sighed deeply and keenly missed the days where all his problems could be simply burned away in his zanpakuto's flames. 

  


* * *

  


There was a giant stomping around the Seireitei. 

Renji had ignored the occasional bursts of reiatsu around the city as some of the rogue zanpakuto went about challenging their owners in ones or twos. The fights had matched the familiar feeling of his fellow lieutenants, but beyond the first night when he'd come back and found chaos reigning freely, none of the Captain-level zanpakuto had made themselves known yet. Renji wondered how many of them had been brought to heel during the initial scuffle, and how many remained in the periphery of Muramasa's influence. 

Two whole days and three long nights, Renji had sat outside the hut, biting his tongue and waiting for Byakuya and the others to be done. 

But now there was a giant stomping around the Seireitei, and while there had initially been flares of Captain-level reiatsu around the city, approaching the source of the commotion, they had been interrupted by the appearance of a matching set that intercepted them before they reached the giant. 

Renji waited and waited for a breakthrough, and when he could wait no more, he leaped away from his post outside the hut, without looking back. 

  


* * *

  


“Go.” 

Rukia startled and her hand flew for her zanpakuto, but then relaxed somewhat as she found Lady Kaede standing by the doorway. 

Most of the Kuchiki were taking their self-imposed exile rather poorly. They were bored and cranky, despite the comfortable accommodations, and Rukia's patience was wearing dangerously thin as she endured the onslaught of complaining from her adopted family. She was terribly annoyed by the lack of sense some of the demands betrayed, how they looked at a situation that put their lives in danger as a mild inconvenience that they didn't think they should have to endure. 

Most of them, anyway. 

“Ma'am?” Rukia asked, blinking as she registered the order. 

Lady Kaede snorted loudly as she rolled her eyes. 

“It's only your remarkable self-control that has kept you from pacing,” she said, and smirked somewhat as Rukia ducked her head in embarrassment. “Something has happened out there, hasn't it?” 

“Even if it has,” Rukia replied, solemn, “my duty is to protect you and the others, ma'am.” 

The elderly Kuchiki scoffed. 

“From what? Petty squabbles and boredom?” She asked, voice snide, as Rukia's eyes widened in surprise. “Nonsense. You're no good here, when there's a battle that needs fighting out there.” 

“But-” 

“I'm releasing you from your duty,” Lady Kaede said, voice so full of command that Rukia felt the instinctive urge to bow. 

“My brother-” 

“Is not here,” Lady Kaede went on, one eyebrow firmly arched. “But I am. Seeing how I am the eldest, I should think my word should carry some weight, should it not?” When Rukia opened her mouth to further argue, she added: “And if your brother takes offense, he can damn well take it up to me. We are Kuchiki and the Kuchiki do not _cower_. You will go and you will fight, and your victory will bring great honor to our House.” 

Rukia hesitated for a moment longer, before very slowly and very purposefully bowing down to the older woman. 

“Yes, ma'am.” 

Lady Kaede watched her back disappear down the long, winding corridor for a moment, before she sighed. Then she squared her shoulders and strolled back into the safe house in a storm of billowing silk, intent on putting the fear of her back into her unruly relatives. 

Their nonsense had gone on long enough. 

  


* * *

  


“Told him to go in the end, huh?” Yoruichi asked, grinning as she leaned on the window next to Byakuya to study the battles echoing all far and wide the Seireitei. 

It wouldn't be long now, before they were ready to strike. 

“Of course,” Byakuya lied, feeling strangely bitter even if rationally, he knew Renji's choice wasn't necessarily bad. “He's of no use to me here.” 

There was a pause, as Yoruichi and Kuukaku shared an exasperated look behind his back. 

“You didn't tell him about the _suicidal_ part of our _suicidal plan_ , did you,” Kuukaku didn't ask, because one of the great truths of life in her world was that Kuchiki Byakuya was a fucking idiot, and she wasn't about to start questioning _that_ just yet. 

“No,” Byakuya replied, monotone, and went to lean on the windowsill, mouth pulled into a tight, annoyed line. 

Yoruichi gave up pretenses and buried her face into her hands. Kuukaku merely rolled her eyes. 

“I'm going to buy something nice for that boy, when this is over.” 

  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the big gap in updates! Life has been hectic lately and work is killing me. I'm hoping to finish a couple more chapters this week. We're nearly at the end anyway.


	25. Inheritance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best plans in history can be summarized as "Not Die".
> 
> So can the worst, matter of fact.

  


* * *

  


XXV. Inheritance. 

  


* * *

  


“Do we even have a plan?” Saru yelled as she followed Renji's mad dash from roof to roof, heading straight for the roaring giant samurai stomping all over the place. 

“Don't die, I guess!” Renji yelled back, before skidding along some tiles as he found himself standing behind a line of terrified shinigami from the Seventh down on ground level. 

“Not dying is the best plan,” Hebi muttered, clinging desperately to Saru's hair. “I like that plan!” 

“Right,” Renji snorted, taking a deep breath as he watched Komamura-taicho be flicked aside by a careless swing of that ginormous sword. “Shit.” 

“Just say the word,” Saru told him, hands hooked on the chain wrapped around her waist. “We've never been really big on plans anyway.” 

Renji swallowed back a snort of hysterical laughter and unsheathed his zanpakuto with a rueful grin. He paused, as he realized that the moment he made himself known, he wouldn't be able to go back and keep an eye on what Byakuya and the others were planning. And then the giant roared so loud, Renji nearly lost his balance and he realized that, as much as he was happy to serve Byakuya, there were things he wasn't willing to compromise. 

Byakuya didn't need him doing... whatever it was he was actually going to set out to do. But these guys? They sure looked like they could use a hand. 

Renji took a deep breath, and committed to his choice. 

“ _Bankai_.” 

  


* * *

  


“You're not supposed to be here.” 

Rukia looked up at the source of the voice, and narrowed her eyes as Sode no Shirayuki stepped protectively in front of her. The figure standing on a nearby tree branch looked haughty and dignified in a terribly familiar way, and it took her only a moment to remember where she had last seen it before. 

“Senbonzakura,” she said, smiling wryly, because while she was fairly certain her brother's zanpakuto would not want her dead – no part of his brother did, really, and wasn't that such a relief? - she wasn't sure he was back to his senses yet. “Did my brother send you?” 

The regal samurai shifted in his perch, as if preparing to answer, but ultimately fell silent. Sode no Shirayuki stood tall in front of Rukia as the air around them began to grow colder. It was familiar, that posture, a measure of restraint that Rukia recognized almost immediately, as the look of her brother when he couldn't, for any number of reasons, be upfront about his motives and his actions. It was depressingly common, too. 

“Are you here to fight me?” She asked instead, pointedly lowering the sword in her hand. 

“No,” Senbonzakura said, almost relieved by her understanding. 

“Will you try and stop me, if I keep going?” Rukia went on, and Sode no Shirayuki relaxed minutely as she felt Rukia's confidence growing. 

“No.” 

Rukia grinned. 

“If you see my brother,” she said, shaking her head, “will you remind him that I love him?” 

“Maybe,” Senbonzakura replied, voice just a twinge less cold than it had been, a moment before, but before Rukia could say anything else, he turned around and disappeared, mid-leap. 

“Rukia-sama?” Sode no Shirayuki asked, slightly confused by the entire exchange. 

“Well, you know,” Rukia replied, shrugging, “I know a thing or two, about being a Kuchiki. And he's my brother,” she added, with a tiny, secret smile, “it's my duty to believe he knows what he's doing, even when he clearly doesn't.” 

  


* * *

  


Komamura Sajin had seen and done enough in the last few months to really make him reconsider everything he'd ever known about Soul Society, his fellow shinigami and himself. He thought, sincerely, that after the disaster that was Aizen and the war, he'd never really experience something that could shock him this much. 

Or make him feel so betrayed. 

Tousen's betrayal had cut deep. Much deeper, in fact, that he could actually bring himself to admit. The war had been a terrible blessing, in a twisted way, giving him something immediate to focus on and pore over. There were a thousand little things that needed to be looked after, as the conflict escalated, and he had been very glad to focus on them, rather than the tattered remains of his sense of self. He'd bravely taken off his mask for good, symbolically stepping into the foreground as what he was and refusing to hide himself anymore. But while baring his face was a relatively straightforward thing to do, and it had been received with a startling amount of support from both his lieutenant and his fellow Captains, there were more quiet, more insidious things that had been festering in him ever since. 

In the end, Tousen had died and Sajin had promised himself to move forward and keep himself grounded in the present. To rebuild himself, at the core, into the kind of person who could receive the gift of trust and acceptance he had been given, and not make those who offered it ever regret it. Tousen's betrayal had been hard and he was just starting to work on moving past it, but this was something else entirely. 

Because this, at the core, was himself. 

Tenken was his soul made manifest, and unlike other shinigami, Sajin had a bond so strong with his zanpakuto, that they even shared physical pain in battle. They had bled and fought together through everything since the very beginning, even through Tousen and Aizen and Karakura town, and through it all, Sajin's comfort in the darkest moments had always been the warm voice of his zanpakuto echoing through the bamboo forest of his inner world. Now that voice and its warmth had left him, and as he looked up to see his own Bankai preparing to strike him down, he bared his fangs with a loud, feral growl. He refused to accept that Tenken would simply choose to cast him aside, and he had sworn, as soon as he had felt that loss, to bring his companion back to his senses, no matter what. 

The blow never came, however. 

He stared as large vertebra crowded around Kokujou Tengen Myou'ou, linked together by bright red reiatsu ropes. The giant struggled against the hold, distracted enough for a moment to not realize the giant snake bone head floating high above him. For a moment, it seemed he would be strong enough to break free, but the ropes thickened considerably instead. 

“I'm gonna try and hit him hard enough to give you a chance to strike, Komamura-taicho,” Renji said, gripping Zabimaru's handle with loose, relaxed fingers, concentrating on not clenching his hand into cramping. “I'm gonna need you to stab your zanpakuto spirit before you start yelling at me, sir.” 

“Abarai-fukutaicho,” Sajin growled, ears twitching as he stood up. “You're supposed to be dead.” 

“Subduing giant Bankai first,” Renji said, sheepish, “explanations later, yeah?” 

“Very well,” Sajin conceded, sounding amused despite it all, even if the giant samurai was letting out increasingly more frustrated growls with each passing second. “Needs must.” 

“They really do, sir,” Renji agreed, and channeled pretty much every scrap of power he still had into Zabimaru's jaws. 

The hollow bones that made up Hihiou Zabimaru's body served as amplifiers for Renji's raw spiritual power and Renji needed to be very controlled in the execution of his signature attack, lest the amplified power ended up being too much for him to handle and backfired on Zabimaru and himself. That's why he learned to disassemble the snake, after each successful shot, to dissipate the residue and keep himself safe. That was also why he seldomly did what he was doing, combining the reiatsu ropes with the concentrated blast, since the lack of bones to amplify his power meant all he had was his own strength. 

But he wasn't trying to defeat the enemy, after all, just stun them long enough for Sajin to bring his own zanpakuto back to their senses. So maybe it would be enough, as it was. Renji hoped so, because he wasn't getting a second shot at it. 

“ _Hikotsu Taihou!_ ” 

As expected, Komamura's Bankai tanked the hit without sustaining a scratch, but it was distracted long enough that, while Renji's own Bankai popped back into a cloud of smoke, Sajin went unnoticed as he leaped forward and aimed his sword at the red cloth covering his face. The glowing yellow eyes widened as Tenken realized what was happening, but even as he tried to dodge, Sajin felt the hit connect. 

The reaction was immediate, and given the size of his Bankai, spectacular. 

Tenken let out a wounded, deafening sound as he was enveloped in flames and he released his Bankai. As Sajin landed on the ground, the physical manifestation of his zanpakuto was on his knees, clutching at the ground as the familiar pulse of his warmth echoed back in Sajin's inner world. 

“You're home now, old friend,” he said, sheathing his sword and offering a hand, “it will be alright.” As the lumbering giant – but no longer gigantic – took it, Sajin nodded thoughtfully. He turned to look at Renji and found himself blinking at the tall, white-furred woman at his side, or the slyly grinning child currently sitting on his shoulders, arms folded on his head. “Abarai-fukutaicho.” 

“...hi.” 

Saru rolled her eyes and threw her arms up in the air. 

  


* * *

  


Kuukaku watched Senbonzakura give his report to his master, voice so soft she couldn't hear it, from her perch on the windowsill of their tiny hut. She could see the way Byakuya's shoulders twitched and tensed and relaxed in turns, even as he clung to his composure to the best of his ability. 

“You know what's the sad part?” She asked, looking over to where Yoruichi was studying the map Kuukaku had drawn of her Ancestral home. The older woman made an inquiring noise in the back of her throat. “I think what pissed me off the most was that I forgave him way before he even grew the spine required to ask for said forgiveness.” 

“He does that, doesn't he,” Yoruichi snorted, and then very carefully looked at Kuukaku without changing her posture. “Then again,” she went on casually, “you do the exact same thing.” 

“Says who?” Kuukaku scoffed, one eyebrow arched. 

“Someone who's known you since you were both knee-high,” Yoruichi retorted, “honestly, the only good thing that came out of _that_ mess is that you two morons didn't get hitched. I'm still not sure who the fuck thought that'd have been a good idea.” 

“Kaien talked me into it,” Kuukaku admitted, shaking her head. “Probably because Ginrei put the idea in his head, I guess. I don't know, it seemed like the stupidly inevitable thing that would happen to someone like us, so we just...” 

“Shrugged and said fuck it?” 

“Oh,” Kuukaku said, grinning slyly, “ _well_ , we knew for a fact it was a terrible idea, but if everyone was so goddamn sure they wanted to go through with it, we weren't about to stop them.” She snickered, mean-spirited. “Just make them regret it for as long as we both lived.” 

“I wish I had been here,” Yoruichi admitted, placing glass markers on the map. “I'm egocentric enough I feel I could have stopped all that from happening, if I had been here to talk sense into those idiots.” 

“You had your reasons for going,” Kuukaku said, pushing off the window to go look over at the map. She found herself offering a teasing smile. “And I forgave you for it, anyway. At least after the third gourd you dropped by.” 

“You sure you wanna come along, then?” Yoruichi asked, both eyebrows arched tauntingly. “We're not exactly going to be forgiving, this time around.” 

“Ha-ha,” Kuukaku snorted, “as if I'd let you two get killed stupidly without me.” 

“As opposed to getting killed stupidly with you?” Yoruichi grinned, twirling one of the little glass markers with her fingers. 

“Nobody is going to get killed, stupidly or otherwise,” Byakuya said in a long suffering tone as he entered the hut, expression pinched. “I might get yelled at until I yearn for death, but that is an entirely different thing altogether.” 

“Cute,” Yoruichi deadpanned, sharing a look with Kuukaku that only made Byakuya's expression darken another notch. “Anyway, let's go over this stupid suicidal plan of ours that's totally not going to get us killed once more.” 

Byakuya inclined his head in agreement. 

“Where's Kisuke?” Kuukaku asked instead, blinking as Yoruichi winced. 

“...I'm not the only one with a pathological need to look after my kids even if they're no longer kids,” she paused and offered a small shrug. “Or if it's doubtful they were ever kids in the first place...” 

  


* * *

  


The various fights around the city died out fairly quickly after Tenken's massive Bankai disappeared, and Renji was dragged away into a Captain's meeting that instantly made him regret his decision to not stick with Byakuya's group. After lying through his teeth with far more ease than he'd have wanted to admit, he learned that nearly all the lieutenants had successfully subdued their zanpakuto... well, mostly. 

Shuuhei's Kazeshini was nominally back on their side, but seemed to waste no time picking at his partner and making psychotic remarks in poor taste. That was also probably not helped much by Matsumoto's Haineko egging him on at every chance she got. Iba and Isane hadn't managed to corner theirs just yet, however. And neither had Ikkaku and Yumichika, who weren't lieutenants officially, but only idiots or new recruits thought that meant anything. Renji also learned that only the Captains from the Eighth, Tenth and Thirteenth had yet to reclaim their zanpakuto, despite multiple skirmishes during the time he'd been 'dead'. 

Considering those were either the strongest or the oldest, or both, among their ranks, that wasn't very heartening. 

Renji wasn't entirely happy with their decision to wait and keep at the defensive, but given he couldn't share anything that would make them change their mind without betraying Byakuya's plan, he resolved to suck it up and do his best. He realized, as well, that there was no way Kyourakou, Ukitake or Unohana didn't remember Kuchiki Kouga's rampage two hundred years prior, but he wasn't sure what that might mean for their insistence to not force a direct confrontation just yet. In the end, Renji decided that if they were going to keep their secrets, he was entitled to his own, and refused to feel petty about it. 

Besides, he still had to go and face his Division and he had a feeling Hotaru was going to skin him alive once she was done dumping all responsibility back at him. Saru and Hebi paused when they realized Renji was no longer walking besides them: he slowed down the darker his thoughts got. 

In fact, he was so focused on his impending murder at the hands of his 3rd seat, that he didn't realize Shinji and Momo were following them until Shinji snorted loud enough to startle the birds perched on the nearby roof. 

“Oi, Renji!” Shinji called, but when Renji looked up, his face was met with Shinji's ankle as he was kicked hard enough to send him rolling back and straight into a wall. 

Saru and Hebi blinked at the display, taken a back by the bland expression on Shinji's face, unsure of how to react. 

Renji didn't have that problem. 

“What the actual fuck, you bastard!” Renji snarled, holding onto his broken nose with one hand. “The hell was that about?” 

“The five whole seconds I actually worried you might be dead,” Shinji deadpanned, brushing invisible lint off his clothes. He turned to his lieutenant, who was holding her hands over her mouth and looked torn between a bark of laughter and sheer mortification. “Tell him, Momo, how heartbroken I was. I sighed for you, Renji. A bonafide melancholic sigh.” 

“You fucking-” 

“Oh my,” Tobiume said, eyes glinting with none of Momo's restraint. “Will there be a fight?” 

“Nah,” Hebi said, ignoring Renji as he lunged at Shinji and started to throttle him somewhat with cries of 'I'll give you something to feel melancholic about, you bastard!' “They're just being dumb.” 

“Zabimaru?” Momo blinked, and then looked away with a slight embarrassed blush when Saru folded her arms over her head, stretching lazily. “Uh.” 

“That's just how morons say hello,” she said, then blinked when she realized the calculative look Tobiume was giving her. “What?” 

“Shameless,” the smaller zanpakuto muttered, looking away with a _hmph_. 

“I'm hungry,” Hebi told no one in particular, and then slithered up Saru like, well, a snake, until he was curled up around her head. “Ne, do you think if we ditch Renji, Hotaru-chan will feed us?” 

“Don't touch the hair!” Shinji snarled in the background, one foot firmly planted on Renji's face as he tried to push him off. 

Momo looked at Zabimaru, then at Renji and her Captain, still struggling about like children, and heaved a small sigh. 

“I... was going to grab something to eat, myself,” she said, and then yelped a little when Hebi leaned forward to look at her with shiny eyes. She tried to imagine Renji pulling off that expression, and couldn't help but snicker. “So maybe...?” 

“Oh, what the hell,” Saru sighed with a shrug, “those two are gonna be at it for a while anyway.” 

“ _Shameless_ ,” Tobiume muttered again, clicking her tongue in disapproval, but followed along without much of a fuss. 

  


* * *

  


“...Taicho?” Akon asked, because again with him being the longest surviving member of the Division and somehow that granted him contractual immortality or whatever it was this time that convinced his fellow researchers that their Captain wasn't going to murder him for speaking out of turn. “Are you alright sir?” 

Mayuri looked like he was about to spontaneously combust as he clutched a post-it note so tightly in his right fist, he was actually trembling with sheer fury. 

“I'm going to mount his head on a wall, do you understand?” He snarled at Akon, who felt marginally relieved it wasn't necessarily his head that would be soon removed. “I'm going to mount it right on this wall!” 

“Uh,” Akon replied eloquently, and winced as Mayuri gave into the urge and very literally flipped a table. If Akon weren't 89% immune to pretty much everything contained in their labs, he might have been a bit more worried about the whole affair, what with the sizzling of the floor and the cloud of gas that came out from the broken beakers. Instead, he added, in an awkward, sort of resigned tone: “Should I fetch...” And then he paused, because he wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't get murdered by finishing the sentence out loud. “You know.” 

...maybe there was something to those rumors about his knack to shut up right before he pushed the Captain into a swearing fit, after all. 

“Get out of here,” Mayuri snapped, and Akon was out the door before he finished the sentence. 

He figured it would be wise to give the Captain a couple hours to wound down before he sent the butterfly to the Fifth. 

  


* * *

  


“Are you certain you can't open the way yourself?” Matsuda asked, lying on his side as he studied the board set up between Yamamoto and Ginrei. “Positively?” 

Isshin snorted. 

“I will admit I was not... wholly thinking straight, when the fog settled, so I don't know,” he said, sighing as he ached for a smoke something fierce. “I really didn't think there'd come a day I'd want to go back, after all.” 

“Patience is a virtue, Matsuda,” Ginrei muttered, terribly dignified and not at all snide. 

Matsuda huffed anyway. 

“What _did_ you do, anyway?” He asked after a moment, looking away from the slow and methodical slaughter that Yamamoto was delivering their friend. Cursed be the day that someone taught the old git how to play, he'd taken it as a bloody personal challenge to get as good at it as he was swinging a sword. “It happened too fast, and we questioned so little...” 

“I'm not surprised,” Isshin replied, careful to make sure he didn't meet the Captain Commander's eyes as he spoke. “We just wanted to be done with it. All of us.” 

“Understandable, really,” Matsuda went on, closing one eye as he feigned indifference. 

“Stop trying to make the boy admit he broke the Law,” Ginrei snapped, left eye twitching somewhat as he realized he'd doomed himself the second he'd chosen his move. “Tatsuya paid enough of a price for it, as it was.” 

“Exile has made you crankier, Gin-kun,” Matsuda mused, snorting under his breath. “You used to find my games much more entertaining, long ago.” 

“The end justifies the means,” Yamamoto said, lips twitching as he prevented Ginrei from delivering the certainly scathing remark resting on the tip of his tongue. “It's how things have always been done.” 

Isshin bit his tongue and refused to say what he thought about that. 

  


* * *

  


“Hirako-taicho, Abarai-fukutaicho, it's so nice to see you both in such high spirits.” 

Renji and Shinji looked at the sound of that voice and instantly let go of each other when they realized the low key murderous aura around Unohana as she gave them a bright, kind smile. 

“But,” she went on, opening her eyes a sliver and making them both start sweating bullets, “it seems to me you might have overdone it just a little, eh?” 

Renji regretted everything. Shinji didn't, just on principle. 

  


* * *

  


“Is it wise, Muramasa-sama?” Senbonzakura asked, as Muramasa walked over to the figure hunched behind the cave's entrance, slowly rocking back and forth. “You mustn't overtax yourself.” 

“It'll be a distraction, once the fog folds back,” Muramasa replied, reaching a hand to tilt up the stranger's face. “A most excellent distraction, don't you think?” 

Donquixote Andaluce stared up at him, or at least someone who looked remarkably similar to the Arrancar Tier Harribel had killed in order to secure her truce with Soul Society. Senbonzakura had not been there to see it, of course, so he couldn't have noticed that the creature looking up at Muramasa with dull, expressionless eyes was a strange mirror image of the original. 

After all, Arrancar did not have zanpakuto in the same way shinigami did: for an Arrancar, their zanpakuto was but a physical manifestation of their own power, the literal other half of themselves. 

Muramasa only needed half of that power, as it was. 

Senbonzakura was not entirely convinced getting Muramasa to attack was the soundest strategy towards victory, but he trusted Byakuya and whatever half-insane plot he had concocted this time. He wasn't entirely happy with not knowing the entire scope, but his master's schemes had yet to fail them at least. 

“Now,” Muramasa said, eyes glowing as the Arrancar zanpakuto twitched in response to his power, “won't you invite over some friends, to keep everyone company?” 

  


* * *

  


“It's time,” Kuukaku said, putting down the gourd and standing up with a stretch. She wrinkled her nose as she felt the fog shift around, thinning out considerably as it did. “But I'm not the only one who thinks so, huh.” 

All four looked at the sky in the distance and saw the grinning gargantas begin to spread open all over the Seireitei. 

“...have I pointed out how this is a terrible idea predicated on your hubris as members of the ruling class and how it is quite likely to end up with all of you dead and the worst mass murderer in recorded history going on a roaring rampage of revenge as a result?” Kisuke asked no one in particular, before whistling as a torrent of Gillians began to pour out of the sky. 

“Mhm.” 

“Yes.” 

“Yep.” 

“Great!” He added, resisting the urge to shake his head, “let's go... not die, then.” 

  


* * *

  


“I'm gonna murder him,” Renji said, staring at the literal rain of hollows, because apparently his life hadn't gotten weird enough lately. 

“No, you're not,” Saru said sagely, shaking her head. 

“Not if we murder him first,” Hebi added, wincing as the last bit of wall they hadn't demolished during their own rampage was summarily stomped on by one of the attacking hollows. “Anyway.” 

Renji let out a drawn out grunt of frustration, and leaped into the fight without another word. 

  


* * *

  


There was a moment of awkward, disbelieving silence as the kido restraints snapped shut around Isshin, Ginrei, Matsuda, and their respective zanpakuto. Yamamoto and Ryoujin Jakka tilted their heads at the exact same angle, at the exact same time, as they took stock of the situation. Considering the concentration of murderous intent oozing from beyond the fog that had exploded into their awareness the moment the passage had opened, one could be forgiven for not noticing the incoming force. 

Still. 

“Excuse me,” Byakuya said politely, as he leaped above them and then into the darkness ahead without looking back. 

“Hi, Dad,” Yoruichi added, as she landed on her father's head. “Bye, Dad,” she singsonged entirely too cheerfully as she bounced off him after Byakuya. 

“Don't mind us,” Kuukaku chirped in, unable to keep a slight deranged grin off her face at the look of surprise on her uncle's face. She waved at him as she ran by. “Just passing through!” 

The fog curtain slammed shut behind her, but the restraints she had put on them were holding strong still. The silence stretched for a long, long moment, until Ginrei sneezed. 

“That,” Yamamoto said, pointing at the now impenetrable wall that sealed off the Shiba estate from the rest of the Seireitei, “would be why there is no inheritance system built into the Gotei 13, despite much whining by several Noble houses.” 

Ginrei looked straight ahead with an unflinching, impassive expression. Isshin spluttered sounds that weren't quite words yet. Matsuda sulked. 

“Ah,” Kisuke said as he walked into the clearing, still sincerely debating turning back and go help with the whole rain of hollows currently keeping pretty much everyone else busy at the moment. “I don't suppose you'd like some tea, while we wait.” 

Ryoujin Jakka gave up pretenses and broke down into howling cackles that were not doing anything to better anyone's mood, except perhaps her own. 

  


* * *

  



	26. Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confrontations ensue, in varying degrees of terribleness. Which are also directly proportional to the terribleness of the people involved, incidentally.

  


* * *

  


XXVI. Showdown.

  


* * *

  


“If I might say so,” Kisuke began, raising his hands in a placating manner, only slightly taken aback by the impassive glower he was being subjected to.

“You may not,” Yamamoto replied, voice and expression unamused.

“You're taking things really well, Yamamoto-soutaicho,” Kisuke went on, because he was halfway suicidal, but mostly because Yamamoto had yet to murder Mayuri, and that said a lot of his tolerance for insubordination. Deep down, Kisuke postulated the theory that for all he demanded unflinching loyalty, Yamamoto enjoyed having his authority challenged. If only for an excuse to remind everyone why he had it in the first place. “What with the hollows literally falling from the sky.”

“Ne, ne, this is really strong stuff!” Ryoujin Jakka pointed out, poking at the bands of kido that held Ginrei in place with a clawed finger. “Like, really, _really_ strong! You'd think one of your kids did it!” She looked over to Yamamoto's glacial expression, entirely unconcerned by the bizarre turn of events. She grinned as she grabbed one of the rods between index and thumb, and pressed until the light itself started to _crack_. “Should I break it? I could totally break it, y'know!”

“No,” Yamamoto said, giving his zanpakuto a brief look, before fixing his eyes on Urahara even as he continued to address her. “I do believe the _former_ heads of the Noble houses need some time to reflect on their actions and their choice of heirs. Kuchiki Koga and his zanpakuto are solely the current Heads' responsibility to handle, _personally,_ as they've so often reminded us. The consequences of _their_ poor handling of the situation, however, I feel generous enough to take care of.” There was a significant pause. “And that is only because I enjoyed the tea.”

“Roger that, Boss,” said the lanky woman in the bright red yukata, who also happened to be the closest thing to a physical personification of Fire itself the world had ever seen, in an entirely too cheerful and carefree tone for anyone's comfort. “Hey, hey, since I'm all out and about, does that mean you're gonna let me loose for a bit?” She asked, trailing after Yamamoto as he stalked away from the clearing and its uncomfortably quiet occupants. “We haven't really put the fear of us into anyone in, like, _forever!_ ”

There was a moment of silence as Kisuke watched the mismatched pair shunpo away into thin air and contemplated the fact he was actually feeling sorry for the invading force.

Then he sighed loudly and plopped down on the ground.

“So!” He said, all cheerful smiles, delighted in his captive audience and their obvious discomfort, “speaking of tea, who wants some?”

  


* * *

  


“What's with these things?” Renji asked no one in particular, slashing a hollow in two. “What the hell are they even doing here?”

“Shinji isn't here,” Saru snapped back, angrily swinging around an identical shikai and trying to push the mass of hollows away from the remnants of the Sixth, “so keep the banter to yourself!”

“I thought it was a valid point,” Renji muttered a little self-consciously, blushing just a little.

“Who cares!” Hebi snorted, and then leaped off, spinning so he smacked a hollow with his tail, away from where Hotaru was starting to wound down. “Hey, hey, Hotaru-chan! You gotta keep up!”

“I can't possibly be expected to keep up with monsters like you two – three!” Hotaru snapped back, panting with effort as she took advantage of the opening to try and catch her breath. “And don't think I have forgiven you, yet! Any of you!” She clarified, loud enough to make both Saru and Renji flinch. “I was worried! And sad! And I didn't even get to get drunk!”

“It wasn't my idea,” Renji admitted, landing nearby to check on her. “But I'll make it up to you, honest.”

“You better!” Hotaru snapped, expression pinched. “I told you explicitly not to die!”

Renji felt himself start to sweat.

“I. Uh. I didn't... actually... die?”

“You made me _think_ you died!” Hotaru went on, glaring. She scoffed. “You'll never become a proper Captain, if you keep acting so recklessly and being unreliable.”

Renji spluttered.

“Eh?!”

She smirked.

“Kuchiki-taicho is working so hard to shape you up,” she went on, “what would he think?”

“Oh, shut up,” Renji snorted irritably, glowering a little in lieu of saying what he was actually thinking.

He and Byakuya were going to have words, when it was all said and done.

Lots of them.

“He-llo? Fight going on?” Saru yelled at them, as she tore a hollow in half with her shikai. “Think we can reschedule this for later?”

“Over lunch, maybe?” Hebi added, somewhat hopefully.

Renji resisted the urge to facepalm, only because Hotaru coughed loudly and it sounded very dangerously like _unreliable_.

  


* * *

  


Byakuya sneezed lightly. Kuukaku startled and fumbled with the bright crystal ball she was using to locate their goal.

“Oi,” she snapped, after making sure she hadn't broken it, “don't do that!”

Byakuya stared at her, looking vaguely offended.

“There is no reason to be nervous,” he said, closing his eyes as if delivering great wisdom.

“Who the hell is nervous?” Kuukaku snarled, eyes narrowing.

“Children,” Yoruichi said, eyebrows arched, “not the time.”

“Shut up,” Kuukaku growled, then shook her head and concentrated on feeding her reiatsu into the crystal. “ _Nervous_ , honestly,” she muttered under her breath, even as she began walking again, following a faint tug-like sensation each time the crystal glowed.

“Are we there yet?” Byakuya asked, in a terrible, indolent deadpan that broke Kuukaku's concentration again.

Yoruichi resisted the urge to snicker, if only because that would only encourage him more.

“ _Oi!_ ”

  


* * *

  


“Pft, kids these days,” Shinji said, shaking his head as he snatched Momo and Tobiume before they could be stepped on by a Gillian, “didn't I tell you both to take it easy? Easy!”

“Hirako-taicho!” Momo cried out, as the hollow opened its mouth wide and fired up a cero at them.

“Whoa,” Tobiume gasped, when Shinji caught it with one hand, not even bothering to look.

She didn't even protest that he had let go of her to do it.

“I'm in the middle of something here,” Shinji said, standing up properly, glaring over his shoulder at the towering beast. “Lecturing precocious lieutenants is half the fun of being a Captain, and you're here up my gill interrupting me with a puny ass cero like that? _Please_.”

Momo opened her mouth to ask what he meant by puny, but he pulled the mask over his face and the abrupt, terrifying shift in his reiatsu left her speechless. She had felt it, before. But she hadn't been so close to it. As Shinji charged up a cero of his own in his fist, Momo marveled at the drastic difference in his apparent power level.

And the fact it wasn't scary or threatening, for all it felt like a wide, yawning ocean just about to swallow her up.

She wasn't surprised when the Gillian were effectively obliterated by the attack, but she noticed the angle was careful enough it didn't cause more damage than the hollows already had.

“Hinamori-fukutaicho,” Shinji said suddenly, as the mask evaporated and he turned to look at her, expression serious for once. “This is an order. From your Captain.”

“Sir!” Momo replied, standing up to attention. At her side, Tobiume tightened her grip on her ribbon, ready to fight.

“You're grounded,” Shinji said solemnly, and when Momo stared at him, he grinned a little and reached a hand to ruffle her hair. “I know you've got shit experience with this, but it's a Captain's job to look after his troops. Including his lieutenant.” He paused. “ _Especially_ his lieutenant. So you stay here, you hold the fort, and you _don't_ get killed, or so help me god, I'll bully Mayuri into reviving you, just so I can kill you myself.”

“But-”

“Captain's orders!” Shinji insisted, and then shunpo'd away with one last affectionate ruffle to her hair.

“...what _the hell_ is wrong with that man?” Tobiume asked no one in particular, even as Momo gave into the nervous laughter clawing up her throat.

Laughter was better than tears, anyway.

  


* * *

  


“Last time to back out of this terrible fucking idea of ours,” Yoruichi said, as they found the barrier. “Just saying.”

There were cracks in the flickering white walls that served as one last obstacle before the main seal. Cobweb-like lines fractured the solid light in every direction, not enough to shatter them, but close enough.

“It'd be pointless, really,” Kuukaku said, leaning in to inspect the barrier with a squint. “This is Isshin's best work, and something beat us to the punch and gave it one hell of a beating. It'd break on its own eventually.”

“That would explain why his zanpakuto managed to slip away,” Yoruichi theorized, and focused on cold logic because despite her usual flippant attitude, the old estate unnerved her with many dreadful memories.

Byakuya and Kuukaku didn't have that problem, of course, having no memories of it in the first place, dreadful or otherwise. But Yoruichi had been old enough to remember, the last night before the ancestral Shiba estate was sealed away. She had been old enough to fight, as well. She still believed that her actions that night had been what had secured her inheritance as Head of the Clan, that she had proven herself ruthless and cunning enough to those who thought she was just a spoiled princess to be auctioned off for an advantageous marriage.

That night, Yoruichi remembered uneasily, had been the last time she'd allowed herself to cry.

“I wonder...” Byakuya began, then fell silent, frowning at the barrier. When he realized both Kuukaku and Yoruichi had heard him and were looking at him curiously, he offered a not-shrug in reply. “Renji theorized Muramasa was behind the Arrancar incidents, shortly after the end of the war. As I understand it, Aizen came to Soul Society, however briefly...”

There was a moment of silence as the dots began to slowly connect into a sobering, annoyingly logical picture.

“It doesn't matter _how_ it happened,” Yoruichi said eventually, and told herself it wasn't entirely defensive when she folded her arms across her chest. “It just did. Now we're gonna fix it.”

“Fix it is such a nice euphemism for _murder it_ ,” Kuukaku snorted, flicking her fingers against the damaged barrier. “Do they teach you that, in Shinigami school?”

“Among other things,” Byakuya replied, in a surprisingly sincere tone.

Kuukaku laughed; Yoruichi did not.

  


* * *

  


Zaraki Kenpachi was having a good day.

He'd been having a string of relatively good days ever since Kurosaki Ichigo had stormed Soul Society, if only because things kept _happening_ with increasing regularity. And then that day, such a good day, he'd walked out into the courtyard outside the Eleventh's barracks only to see freaking hollows raining down the sky. And then Yumichika and Ikkaku's zanpakuto had landed in the courtyard and bowed politely as he stalked past them, intent on getting himself some of that action. Anyone else might have questioned the fact the still untamed zanpakuto were perfectly willing to be civil to him, or perhaps wonder why he hadn't simply punted them back into place.

Zaraki figured it was the kind of deep shinigami shit one had to do on their own. He wasn't one for all that mystic speak-to-thy-soul thing that came attached with having a zanpakuto and while he was interested in getting stronger by eventually taming his own sword... well, he at least grasped the idea it was a personal kind of thing.

Besides, it felt wrong to beat the shit of someone who wasn't putting up a fight.

So he'd left his barracks to his third and fifth seat, and strolled away intent on cutting down as many hollows as he could. Well. That had been the plan. But when he leaped out to start the party, he'd nearly collided midair with someone gracelessly hurling down towards the ground. Zaraki was mad for exactly two thirds of a second, before the lilac hair registered properly and then the next thing he knew was that he was breaking Isane's fall as gently as his bony arms could manage.

Which, given her pained moans, wasn't much, but he reckoned the intention counted for something.

“Z-Zaraki-taicho!” Isane stuttered, blinking as she found herself held surprisingly more gently than she'd thought he could even be capable of.

Of course, he let go of her at that moment and she landed on the ground with a dull thud and another tiny groan. So much for _that_.

“That your sword, girl?” Zaraki asked, staring at the young man with what seemed to be iron rods stuck all over his back and a pissed off expression to match.

“Um,” Isane said eloquently, slowly picking herself up.

There was a moment of stunned silence as Zaraki plopped down on the ground, murderous grin splitting his face nearly in half.

“Well, don't just stand there, I'm here for the show.” When Isane made another surprised noise, Zaraki gave her a wide, taunting smile. “'s okay, yeah? If you're so weak he kills you, I'll kill him right back, right?”

No, not really, Isane thought desperately, just as Itegumo grinned.

“Deal,” he grunted, and Isane barely had enough time to raise her sword and block the gutting slice.

Zaraki laughed at that, but it was not very comforting.

  


* * *

  


“Ukitake-taicho!”

The voice calling for him confirmed Ukitake's suspicions about who was behind the sudden towering ice sculptures that had formerly been hollows terrorizing his Division. Rukia, and a regal looking woman who he could only assume was Sode no Shirayuki, leaped down from the furthest wall, looking slightly anxious but not really worse for wear.

“Rukia,” Ukitake said, smiling pleasantly out of habit, even though the situation was hardly appropriate. “What are you doing here?”

There was a moment when she looked... disappointed, almost, and Ukitake wondered what he'd said wrong before trying to look more comforting. In response, Rukia's jaw set and she looked ready to take down anything and everything standing in her way.

Her actual reply, however, caught him genuinely off hand.

“I am, first of all, a shinigami of the Thirteen Division, Taicho,” she bowed solemnly, though her zanpakuto didn't, eyeing him instead with a judgmental look that wasn't entirely welcome. “I'm here to do my duty.”

Oh, Ukitake thought, feeling monumentally stupid as the pieces fell one by one into place. Well, Shunsui is going to laugh at me for this.

  


* * *

  


Kuchiki Koga was... not what they had been expecting.

The man that stepped out of the seal was not the towering shadow that had eclipsed most of their lives, and though Byakuya and Kuukaku had never met him before, even Yoruichi seemed slightly taken aback by his appearance. He looked gaunt and worn, hair unkempt and faced scarred. So much so, in fact, that for a brief moment their mission seemed to turn into a mercy kill more than anything else.

Then he smiled.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Byakuya said, with enough feeling his companions would have laughed, were they not also thrown back by the sheer explosion of reiatsu that would have put even the Captain of the Eleventh to shame.

  


* * *

  


“I'm going to murder him,” Renji said, in an overly serene tone decidedly at odds with the howling of a million razor sharp petals shielding him from a cero he'd been just a heartbeat too slow to dodge.

“I would certainly appreciate it if you refrained from doing so,” Senbonzakura replied, frown clear on his tone even if the mask hid away his face. “I'm-”

“ _Here_ ,” Renji interrupted, snarling the word like a personal offense. “He's out there fighting a guy built up to be the next worst thing to Aizen motherfucking Sousuke, and you're _here_.”

“He needs me here,” Senbonzakura insisted, offering the exact same not-shrug that Byakuya always gave Renji during their arguments.

It made Renji want to punch him.

“Well, I need him not to die stupidly!” He snapped back, fingers clenched tight around Zabimaru's hilt. And then, “I need him to trust me not to be weak.”

“That's not-”

“You're here,” Renji snarled, teeth bared in a way that reminded Senbonzakura that baboons and snakes had very long fangs, both. “What else am I supposed to get from that?” There was a pause, before Renji's voice dropped into a vicious hiss that echoed with the furious twitching of his reiatsu. “And don't give me stupid mushy bullshit, because I will fucking _punch_ you.”

“You have your orders,” the samurai said eventually, sniffing somewhat disdainfully because despite it all he was offended at having his help so thoroughly rebuked. “And I have mine.”

“Fight!” Hotaru interrupted, looking at Renji and... what she supposed was Kuchiki-taicho's zanpakuto with a balanced mix of irritation and fond exasperation. “Fight that hasn't stopped yet!”

The sky chose exactly that moment to erupt into a searing inferno of flames.

“Or not,” Saru muttered, wincing.

Hebi whistled as pretty much everything remotely hostile disintegrated into soot and ash.

  


* * *

  


“I do believe that's our cue,” Shunsui murmured – always murmured to her, only the softest words and the quietest tones for her, because the thought he feared tarnishing her beauty amused her as much as it comforted him – tilting his head back just enough to eye the carnage in the sky under the rim of his hat.

“I was getting bored anyway,” Katen sighed, placing down her cup with the right clink for it to be elegant and almost theatrically forlorn.

Kyoukotsu said nothing, because it wasn't time yet, would never be time, if Shunsui had any say on the matter. She still stood up, however, the turquoise eye visible gleaming with something like budding interest.

“I can't have that,” Shunsui replied, smiling warmly as he offered a hand to help Katen stand, which widened when she took it and pretended dutifully to need it. “I did promise you to always give you the most entertaining show, didn't I?”

“When you were young and droll and you hadn't figured out my favorite stories always end in tragedy, my dear,” Katen replied, leaning in on him with a shrewd smile. “But you're still pretty enough I don't hold it against you.”

“My lady is such a gracious creature, bestowing so much kindness upon me,” Shunsui said, smiling back as he leaned in almost close enough to press the words right into her lips.

“Liar,” Katen snorted, turning her face away in a calculated movement that nearly skewered one of Shunsui's eyes with her hairpins. “We both know you get your fill of kindness _elsewhere_.”

“My heart is loyal,” Shunsui protested, laughing in the back of his throat, seemingly uncaring of the destruction and chaos spreading all around him. “It is my soul that is fickle.”

“Your heart is besotted,” Katen snapped back, voice dry. “But your owner deserves you, every bit of twisted, hateful fancy you are, Kyouraku Shunsui, we conceded that when we realized we couldn't kill him.”

“Couldn't?” Shunsui asked, taunting as he tilted his chin up and pretended she wasn't aiming her sword at his throat. “Or wouldn't?”

“Muster good sake, after all is said and done,” Katen said solemnly, turning away without looking back, “and we might forgive you the blunder of losing us _again_.”

“For you, my sweet?” He replied, all laughter and cheer even as his spirit pressure deepened and widened, tendrils reaching out to find the source of the disturbance. “Anything.”

Across the Seireitei, Donquixote Andaluce's... shell of being tingled Shunsui's awareness, and a moment later, both him and his companions were gone.

  


* * *

  


“Credit where credit's due,” Kuukaku panted, grinning lopsidedly as she tried to gather her wits as constant, untamed reiatsu tried to eat away at her barriers. “Bastard's in surprisingly good form.”

“He's really not,” Yoruichi laughed, crouched behind her as she prepared for her second wind. She looked over at Byakuya, falling into the comfort of camaraderie to avoid thinking logically about the fact they were a lot more outclassed than they had anticipated. “Starting to wish you'd brought your zanpakuto along?”

“No,” Byakuya replied coolly, expression empty. “His power must be finite.”

“Shoulda,” Kuukaku replied, “but it probably ain't. Not the kind of finite you outlast, anyway,” she went on, closing her eyes in annoyance. “Not with how _your_ uncle worked the seal in. He's been feeding off the wards for a very long time. And those weren't very puny wards, either.”

“Why is it he's always _my_ uncle when he does something stupid?” Byakuya indulged her, because it kept him from voicing the filthy string of profanity bubbling in the back of his throat.

Renji was such a terrible influence in him, it was downright embarrassing.

“Because the stupid comes from _your_ side of the family,” Kuukaku replied, smirking. “Everyone knows the Shiba are stubborn like rabid mules, but it's the Kuchiki you want, for downright _offensively_ _moronic_.”

The barrier began to crack, at the edges. Byakuya chose to be the bigger person and address their current predicament rather than comment on exactly how rabid those mules could be.

“Tea party in autumn,” he told her, and openly shrugged when she made an obscene gesture in response. “If you have a better idea, I'm listening.”

“You do that,” Yoruichi sighed, cracking her knuckles as her shunkou began to howl around her once more. “I'm just going to punch him a little more until I feel better or he stops.”

She leaped above and beyond the barrier to do just that. Kuukaku sighed and clenched her fingers a couple times.

“This is such a _Kuchiki_ plan.”

“It will work,” Byakuya replied, sneering just so. “If you can be Shiba about it.”

The barrier collapsed, on their third breath. They were synchronized, by then, graceful and deadly as Byakuya released his shikai and Kuukaku showed off the absurd amount of kido under her command. And in between, too fast to be seen or tracked but certainly strong enough to be felt, Yoruichi trying her best to pummel the enemy into a fine paste.

It was almost enough.

Almost.

  


* * *

  



	27. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is victory and consequences for said victory, but all Renji wants, deep down, is to hide under a rock. Byakuya sympathizes.

  


* * *

  


XXVII. Resolution. 

  


* * *

  


Renji followed Senbonzakura and grudgingly accepted the fact that, once it was fully explained to him, Byakuya's plan was not entirely senseless. 

Mostly, but not entirely. 

They were to find Muramasa and deal with him, permanently, since the loss of his zanpakuto would certainly cripple Kuchiki Koga and quite possibly tilt the balance of the battle in their favor. It was reasonable and sensible, but only beneath a surface layer of nonsensical melodrama that Renji was sick to death of already. Yes, being technically KIA had allowed them to move freely without arousing suspicion, and set the pieces on the board, but Renji was still vaguely ill about all the lying he'd done in the past week. He'd manipulated the Captains by taking the spotlight away from Byakuya, who'd then used his position in the Clan to investigate as much as possible about the enemy and formulate some kind of suicidal plan to kill the rogue Kuchiki rather than just seal him again for another generation to deal with. Renji agreed, really, he did, problems didn't solve themselves when you shoved them in a corner and ceased talking about them, but lying and scheming were so foreign to his own nature he was still somewhat mortified at everything he'd done. 

Byakuya had set things out in such a way that the older generation who had actually lived through Kuchiki Koga's rampage would settle in to handle things the same way they had before – which was terribly, in Byakuya's opinion, and Renji agreed, he really did, but he was also so fucking _pissed_ – while he used Senbonzakura to nudge and guide Muramasa to act the way Byakuya needed him to. He'd used Renji, too, which Renji wasn't actually mad about, because above all, he was Byakuya's lieutenant and it was his primary job to be a tool in his Captain's arsenal. But even so, Byakuya hadn't said everything, and Renji wondered what was behind the secrecy: mistrust in his ability to follow the script, or yet another misguided attempt to keep him from more hateful lies. It wasn't a lie, after all, if Renji sincerely believed what he was saying was the truth. 

Now he was out there somewhere, in the fucking _parallel dimension_ that Shiba Isshin had turn his family estate into to imprison the genocidal asshole since apparently nothing less would have been good enough at the time, fighting said genocidal asshole with Yoruichi and Kuukaku under the pretext of being Head of a Noble House or some other trite noble bullshit that Renji had thought he was done feeling resentful and angry about when he and Rukia had made peace after she'd been released. 

Byakuya's plan was nothing short of perfect, save the bit where it was convoluted and predicated on deception of all sides, and Renji really did sincerely honestly get it, but he was so fucking tired of the bullshit and the meandering around that finally getting the whole picture was just making him want to scream. 

High above, the sky was still shrouded in flames, even though there was nothing left for the Captain Commander to incinerate anymore. 

“Stand down, Kyouraku Shunsui,” Senbonzakura drawled, voice oozing command the very same way his master's did, and Renji felt another stab of aimless rage bubbling away in his gut for no reason he could easily explain. “This prey does not belong to you.” 

Muramasa lay on the ground, whimpering and torn to pieces, but still alive. Renji studied the carnage with a critical eye and moved the Captain of the Eight six whole steps up in his mental hierarchy of people he really didn't want to pick a fight with. 

“This is the veritable meaning of kill stealing,” Shunsui said, voice placid and pleasant enough that Renji felt immediately better about all the lies he'd told the man to his face in the past six days. 

He also felt like hurling, but that feeling had been churning in his gut ever since Senbonzakura laid out the truth to him, and Renji had decided he was not going to indulge the urge until after drinking half his weight in alcohol. He deserved it, really. 

“Perhaps,” Senbonzakura replied, smirk sharp like his blades as he held his sword in front of him. “But still not a mercy kill,” he added, as he let go of the sword and it was swallowed by the ground. “ _Bankai_.” 

Renji didn't laugh, even though he kinda wanted to, at the sheer absurdity of the theatrics, but that was only because he was pretty sure once he started, he was never going to stop. 

Hysteria was annoying like that. 

  


* * *

  


His arm was broken in three places and his left leg was sprained at the _hip_. 

Yoruichi had at least six broken ribs and a split lip. 

Kuukaku hadn't lost an eye because she was made of sheer magic. 

They were not, in short, winning. 

To use one of Renji's most favored vernaculars, Byakuya thought with supreme annoyance, they were getting the living _shit_ kicked out of them. 

Still, they knew this was a possibility – Yoruichi had counted it as a certainty, because Yoruichi had actually met and fought the ungodly abomination of corrupted power wailing on Kuukaku's barrier with his bare fists – but their war was of attrition, rather than glory or honor or any of the pristine words their predecessors had – probably – used to describe their fight against Kuchiki Koga. They had to weather the storm until Senbonzakura did his part, and if the stars aligned and they were extremely lucky on top of talented, they'd get a chance to retaliate and close that chapter of history in the most definitive way possible. 

But still, it was one thing to ready for it, when they were putting together their mad, ludicrous plan. It was another else entirely, to actually go through with it. Byakuya didn't know how Yoruichi and Kuukaku were managing, only that they were. He himself thought of Rukia's laughter and Renji's almost shy smirks when the pain pulsed too loudly. It'd have to do. 

Kuchiki Koga was a monster, short and simple. 

Kuukaku insisted on unraveling the mystery of his monstrous strength and his roaring, mindless rage. Byakuya would have snide remarks for her, were she not also the only reason they hadn't already been ground into fine mince. Talking helped her focus, he knew, and she was not one to let a mystery go. Thus she had already walked them all through her most feasible theory, involving the potential ramifications of the forbidden technique Isshin had used, the undocumented effects of warping time and space nilly willy, and the plain old fact that Kuchiki Koga had been a deranged psychopath from the beginning, anyway. 

And then, when Byakuya was steeling himself to do something drastic and Kuukaku's entire arm was trembling with the strain of holding the barrier in place, Kuchiki Koga stopped. Jerked back. 

Howled like the souls of the damned being dragged off into hell. 

Yoruichi didn't wait. Of course she didn't. Lightning was destructive and implacable, striking without mercy. Byakuya spared a look to Kuukaku as she allowed the barrier to collapse, and stood up despite the fact his knees wanted to give out. 

“You have been judged, Kuchiki Koga,” he said, because even then, they had to do it by the book. Yoruichi stood behind the deceptively fragile-looking body, arms curled on his, holding him forcefully in place as he continued to wail desperately at the loss of half his soul. “You have been found lacking.” 

Yoruichi's only concession was to pull her head back at the last moment, just as Byakuya's sword whistled less than an inch from her throat. The head flew off, just like Byakuya had secretly hoped it would. It had barely hit the ground when Byakuya and Yoruichi felt the shift in Kuukaku's spirit pressure and wisely shunpo away. Seconds later, a torrent of flame erupted from the ground, disintegrating everything in its path. Kuukaku panted loudly as the fired died. 

Then she did it again, twice, just for good measure. 

Byakuya didn't even offer a disgruntled comment when her knees gave out and he had to carry half her weight against his side. 

“Well, that fucking sucked,” Yoruichi told no one in particular. 

“That was the easy part,” Byakuya pointed out, because it was his divine given right to point out the obvious so long as it was terrible and disheartening, apparently. “Now to sort out the consequences.” 

“I never really liked being Head of the Clan anyway,” Kuukaku muttered, hiding her face behind her hair. 

Byakuya didn't say, neither did I, because it was a lie far too close to the truth for his liking. 

  


* * *

  


There was a lot of screaming and an unending parade of Captain meetings, sometimes at the same time. 

And Renji bore it all sober after he realized Senbonzakura was gone without telling him the bits of Byakuya's plan that happened once Kuchiki Koga was dead. Renji wanted nothing more than to lose himself in a drunken stupor worthy of his days in the Eleventh, but one look at his Division made him realize he wasn't quite done yet. So he put on his armband and stood at Captain meetings and refused to flinch when the screaming started. Once, he snapped back at the Captain of the Second with enough teeth bared to give her pause and make Zaraki laugh. He organized patrols and argued with the members of the Twelfth sent to help rebuild. Zabimaru followed him or held the fort when he needed them to, letting him be three places at once when he felt he needed to be in thirty. 

Hotaru snarked endlessly with a level of vicious affection that Renji hadn't thought possible and took to slurring his honorific in a way that couldn't be anything but intentional. 

Renji snarled at her when she did, because he was part of the Sixth and the Sixth already had a Captain. 

A Captain that was Head of the greatest of the Noble families, and no one had seen hide or hair of any member of those in the aftermath of the absurd mess that was the skirmish with Muramasa. Renji twitched whenever someone called it that, because skirmishes didn't usually end up with the level of destruction and chaos they had survived, but he'd stopped bringing it up because it only ended up in more screaming. He was so very tired of the screaming. 

The Great Noble families were paying for the repairs, however. Workers and materials came every day, carrying with them papers with stamped seals that meant at least Renji didn't have to jump through hoops to finance the restoration of his Division and the districts under their care. It had made the screaming during Captain meetings a bit better, too, and for that he was almost grateful. 

He didn't wonder where Byakuya was, only promised himself, whenever he found his thoughts wandering, to yell at him when he came back. 

And of course he would come back, he couldn't have possibly died in the assault. Renji knew the way the other Captains looked at him; he would have been forced into a haori, if Byakuya had been enough of a bastard to die on him. But still. 

There was a lot of screaming, and Captain meetings. 

And through it all, the Captain Commander stood there, watching them with an impossible to read bland face that sometimes Renji thought looked downright _amused_. 

  


* * *

  


By the first month, most of the Seireitei was halfway patched up and mostly used to the presence of zanpakuto spirits following after the Captains and Lieutenants. 

Mayuri had tried, time and time again, to warn them it would not last forever and that they should stop getting attached. Well, alright, he said it perhaps twice, but he detested dealing with people who made him repeat himself. Which was exactly why Shinji was sprawled on the couch of his office, asking questions in a strangely comforting deadpan while Mayuri cataloged his own reactions to them, before answering them as viciously as he could. 

He would never admit it made him feel better, at the end of the day, to have the perfect, deadpan excuse to rant about everything that needed ranting about – he hadn't seen him yet, but he could tell Urahara Kisuke had been dropping by his lab to leave little cryptic notes and ideas that filled Mayuri with all-consuming _rage_ – because Shinji would be utterly insufferable about it. 

He expected the blond to be bored eventually and leave him be, but there he was, every evening, with that indolent not-smile of his and a fresh batch of questions, some of which even built on what Mayuri had told him before. 

Still, he watched Ashisogi Jizo, for lack of a better word, _snuggle_ up Shinji's side with Shinji not even bothering to comment on it or letting it interrupt his three paragraph question of the day, and quietly decided to kill someone. Possibly himself, if the stupid thought did not leave his mind and his goddamn zanpakuto didn't stop fixating on it. 

Mayuri knew it would not last and didn't allow himself to get attached. 

Attachments were stupid and got people killed. 

  


* * *

  


“I could... talk to him,” Rukia said, sitting with her back against the door. “If you want.” 

Servants carefully avoided the corridor and the utterly uncouth display, and she promised herself to do something really nice for them, when things calmed down again. She heard her brother sighed, from the other side, and felt his weight press against the thin, shoji door. Rukia ached to fling it open and wondered if he'd let her get away with something so... ridiculous as a hug. 

“I would rather speak with him myself,” Byakuya muttered, soaking in the warmth of her through the screen. “When this is over, of course.” 

He had been sentenced to solitary confinement in his rooms, and suddenly he found himself in awe and respect of Rukia once more. He was quietly going insane, would be already, if he didn't categorically refuse to give anyone the satisfaction. 

“Ginrei-sama...” Rukia said, swallowing hard, “Ginrei-sama asked me about him.” 

“I expected no less,” Byakuya replied, voice carefully devoid of all emotion. 

Rukia stared at the door and felt something like panic settle in her gut. 

“Nii-sama...” she began, before gathering aplomb and allowing herself to sound exactly as horrified as she felt. “Nii-sama, surely you did not _tell_ him...” 

“There was no point in not telling him,” Byakuya admitted, a ghost of defiant amusement curled beneath his tone. “I would hardly consider Renji a terrible sin to own up to, given all else I've done.” When Rukia's reply was merely a sharp intake of breath, Byakuya allowed himself a tiny, bitter snort. “The Furusawa and the Sugimoto are the ones that you should be worried about. Despite their theatrics, the _current_ Heads of our Clans are more impressed than angry at what we've done.” He softened his voice, when he noticed her shadow tremble slightly across the door. “It is merely a formality at this point, Rukia, the waiting game.” 

“Yes, Nii-sama,” she replied, not wholly convinced, because her heart hurt to realize he still worried more about her, than himself. 

“I would not mind,” Byakuya murmured after a moment, hesitation imperceptible if one didn't know where to look for it, “if you told me about him.” 

Rukia knew exactly where to look for it, so she smiled, despite it all, and began telling him about Renji's vicious rivalry with Sui-Feng. Byakuya soaked up the words and felt himself swell with something almost as grand as pride. 

  


* * *

  


“They respect you.” 

Renji did not startle at the voice suddenly behind him. He looked over his shoulder and found an old, weary-looking man. A man with the kenseikan woven into his long, grey hair. Something inside Renji's gut twisted and churned angrily, but he refused to let it show. 

“I'm the lieutenant of the Sixth Division,” he said instead, turning around to face the stranger and the unmistakable _Kuchiki-ness_ of his grey eyes, “of course they respect me.” 

“What's your name, boy?” Ginrei asked, even if he already knew, and was surprised by the shrug he got in return. 

“What's yours, sir?” Renji asked back, one eyebrow arched. 

He weathered the judging look with a small snarl, chin tilted up defiantly as he held up his ground. This wasn't any different than fighting Sui-Feng, Renji realized: he stood up to her, because she'd stomp over his Division in her efforts to prop her own up. So Renji had to be impassive and unmoving like a mountain range, standing between her and his men, because he was the best thing his men had to defend them. With Ginrei – Renji didn't know who he was, only _who_ he was, by the kenseikan and the worn, storm-grey eyes – it was all about him standing between this stranger and the unsaid implications about his Captain. Renji didn't need to understand the implications fully, to know they weren't exactly good at the moment. 

“He told me you were loyal,” Ginrei said after a moment, expression not quite softening as much as becoming more indifferent than hostile. “He did not tell me to what extent.” 

“He's my Captain,” Renji replied, trying to make himself to be the largest fucking mountain range in the world, “and I'm his lieutenant. Loyalty is a given.” 

“No,” Ginrei said, and were Renji not so good at reading Byakuya's abysmal handling of emotion, he might not have realized the old man sounded sad. “It is not. Thank you for your time, Abarai-fukutaicho.” 

“Are you sure you don't want us to... deal with him?” Saru asked, stepping closer to Renji as they watched Ginrei walk away. 

“We could totally deal with him,” Hebi agreed, and then crawled up Renji's back to sit on his shoulders. “Splat! Dealt with,” he added, unnecessarily. 

Renji sighed. 

Being a mountain range was more exhausting than one would expect. 

  


* * *

  


“Do you play shogi, Abarai-fukutaicho?” Shunsui asked, pretending very graciously that Renji's discomfort was anything but obvious. 

“Never had a head for it, Taicho,” Renji replied, as polite as he could make himself, ignoring the way Shunsui's zanpakuto stared at him like he was prey. He swallowed hard. “I prefer mahjong or cards.” 

“Would you believe me if I told you I've never learned proper mahjong?” Shinsui grinned, almost perfectly sheepish. 

Renji knew there was a reason he'd been invited to sit in the mid-afternoon sun and drink with the man. He just didn't know _what_ the reason was. The Captain of the Eighth seemed to have an interest in him, now, for all he'd been pointedly not asking questions about his involvement in the recent mess. Some days, Renji caught Shinsui looking at him during a meeting with something almost like pride, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it meant. 

Still, it was better than being asked about his Captain's whereabouts. No one had asked him yet, but Renji kept bracing anyway. With his luck, maybe everyone else already knew and he was the only one in the dark. But he somehow doubted that'd be the case. Instead he went on, clinging to his rank for all his worth, and baring his teeth at the smallest insinuation of... of anything, really. 

He was tired and strung up and deep down so angry it kept him up at night, but so long as he had his duty, he figured he'd survive it. And he was looking forward to seeing his Captain again and letting him know exactly what he thought. 

Renji took a sip of his drink, careful to enjoy it before he committed to his latest terrible idea. 

“I suppose I could teach you,” he found himself saying, because he felt that was what he was supposed to say, and Shunsui's sly grin was doing nothing to contradict the feeling. “If you'd like?” 

  


* * *

  


Byakuya walked through the Sixth and thoroughly ignored the deadly silence that spread around him as he did. He walked back into the main barracks and into his office, at which point he closed the door behind him and leaned on it. Zabimaru took one look at him and jumped out the window without another word. 

Renji finished his report before looking up. Byakuya watched the way he gripped the brush too tightly, turning his words into jagged, angry lines, and felt an odd twitch in his heart even as he committed to his own idiocy. 

“I would sincerely appreciate it if you could, perhaps, spare a day or two before you start yelling at me,” Byakuya said, desperately hoping the feeling of his hair loose could be termed something other than fear, “please.” 

Renji put the brush down and threw his chair back as he stood up. Byakuya refused to give into the cowardly urge to lean back when he loomed at him. Renji held his face in his hands, tilting it up, and Byakuya wondered if he was going to kiss him or just break his neck, right there and then. 

“And what exactly would you do with one or two days without yelling?” Renji asked, lips pressed into a tight line that Byakuya couldn't read entirely. 

Impossibly, Byakuya blushed right before his eyes, as he opened his mouth and then closed it tightly, letting his eyes look elsewhere. Renji ached. His heart, his soul, his everything. It ached pitifully. Pressing his lips against Byakuya's and kissing him until he ran out of air, it made everything ache a little less. 

“You're late,” Renji whispered against his lips, as Byakuya's arms wrapped easily around his neck. “Welcome home, Taicho.” 

Byakuya dug his fingers into his hair, pulling him closer, and refused to apologize. 

  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three more chapters to go! :D


	28. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Renji and Byakuya talk, then fight, then talk some more.

  


* * *

  


XXVIII. Aftermath. 

  


* * *

  


If pressed, Byakuya would have to admit he couldn't quite pinpoint the moment kissing Renji had melted into clinging to Renji, up until they slid down against the door and ended up sitting on the floor of the office. He might have made a terribly undignified noise, somewhere along the line, and as such he preferred not to think how they got there, only that they were. 

It was surprisingly nice, sitting on the floor right next to Renji, holding hands and matching each other's breathing to keep from spiraling down into panic or something equally uncouth. 

“I am incandescent with rage, right now,” Renji said, careful to enunciate the word hard enough it sounded completely rehearsed. 

“Incandescent,” Byakuya replied, looking up and sideways at him but finding only a tired smile tugging at Renji's lips. 

“I had to sit down and look for the right word,” he replied, and something in the way he said so made Byakuya angry at every single person in the world who had ever made Renji felt he wasn't smart enough to be himself. “Because I reckoned you'd dislike it if I just broke down into profanity for three hours straight.” 

Byakuya thought of his meeting with the Furusawa and the Sugimoto. Of the slander and threats and all the ugly, vicious things he wanted to personally eviscerate. He thought of Kuukaku's sneers and Yoruichi's grinning taunts. He licked his lips and told himself it was _done_. It was all done for another century or two, and even then, looking at the cost, he did not regret the time he'd bought to figure out Renji, himself, and Renji and himself. 

“I would understand,” he said, after a moment, remembering his own outburst, “if you did.” 

Renji gave him a look, thoughtful, and Byakuya wondered if he'd said the wrong thing – he always said the wrong thing, it was almost a requirement – but before he could go back on his most solemn oath to not regret and apologize for what he'd done, Renji let out a bone-weary sigh and leaned in to rest his cheek against his temple. 

“I'd like to think you don't,” Renji said as Byakuya fought off the urge to close his eyes and ignore the world entirely. “I... it's stupid, but if you don't get why I'm pissed at you, it means you didn't piss me off on purpose. It means I can just explain and you'll stop and I'll never feel this fucking raw again.” 

Byakuya waited for the impulse to say he would, if Renji asked him. He waited for the string of words to build up in his throat, the promises and the offerings and everything that had kept him sane during those long weeks locked up inside his quarters at the manor. But he found they didn't come, because Renji was telling him the truth and he found himself unable to lie. 

“I... care for you,” he said, instead, and ignored the twinge of hurt when Renji pulled away abruptly to look at him with wide eyes. He soldiered on, expression closed up and frozen into nothing out of habit. “I truly do, Renji. I care for your opinion and your feelings, but I am not free to devote myself to caring for you to the exclusion of everything else. I _choose_ to care for you,” he said, putting emphasis on the word as he looked searchingly for a hint of understanding in Renji's stare, “but I must care for other things, as well. I must care for my Clan. I must care for my Division. I must care for Soul Society as a whole.” He offered a thin-lipped smile. “Or I must at least pretend I do. Most of the time, I truly do, but everything I do and everything I say must take into consideration all those things I _must_ care for, not only those I _want_ to care for.” 

Renji was silent for a moment, considering the words and the various meanings behind them, before he let out a long, tired sigh. 

“This is why you never apologize for anything, isn't it,” he said, squinting somewhat. “Not just because you're an asshole who hates being wrong and apologizing forces you to admit you _were_ wrong and fucked up.” 

Amazingly, Byakuya laughed. A single, sharp bark of laughter quickly bit back behind an embarrassed and thunderous look, but Renji knew what he'd heard, and what he'd heard was laughter. The kind of startled, shocked sound that only came from someone slowly falling to pieces and trying their best not to. 

“I can ill afford to question myself,” Byakuya admitted, voice soft and quiet and entirely too vulnerable for Renji's liking, “when I know so very well all my actions have cost others.” 

Renji's eyes flickered to his hair, loose and smooth and strangely subdued without the kenseikan woven into it. 

“And what it's cost _you_ , of course,” he added, a little more mean spirited than he originally intended, because he was still angry and hurt even if he'd tacitly promised not to yell just yet. 

Byakuya stared at Renji uncomprehending, however, and Renji found a good deal of his anger shifted targets without permission. It wasn't gone, of course. It wasn't a small thing, after all, the lies and the half-truths and the consequences of their choices and then the absence while Renji had to string up enough sense of self to hold the fort – indefinitely, if necessary. He was angry and Renji was not one to deny himself his feelings in general, his anger in particular. It was the one lesson he'd learned in the Eleventh, the one truth Kenpachi Zaraki had taught him, that Renji held closest to his soul: anger was both a sign of something wrong, and the force driving him to fix it. It wasn't a character flaw, and Renji had learned to distrust anyone who thought it was, because they invariably ended up being the kind of person who thought some people just had to bite their tongues and accept their shit lot in life. And Renji hated people who thought like that, in practice much more than in theory. 

So he was angry, and he had damn good reasons to be angry, but as Byakuya continued to look at him like he had just started speaking in tongues, Renji found his anger segmenting and rearranging itself as it aimed at new targets. 

“You really don't care, do you,” Renji whispered, “what happens to you, what _you_ have to give up. _You don't care_.” 

Byakuya smiled. Thin and subtle, in a way that made Renji want to find whoever was responsible and pummel them into a fine paste. He looked tired and worn around the edges and Renji began to dread what the consequences had been, for all he'd done. Because there had to be consequences, beyond the ones he'd already dealt with. 

“I'm not allowed to,” Byakuya said, almost peaceful, and it only made the gnarled knot of rage and despair behind Renji's ribs pulse more deeply. “It doesn't matter, really, in the long run.” 

Renji leaned in and kissed him, drinking in the noise of surprise Byakuya made before he melted and kissed him back. Renji pretended he didn't feel the shudder when he carded his fingers through loose, black hair, and made a decision. It was suitably moronic, he was proud to admit, to fit with their situation. 

“Fight me,” Renji said, as he pulled back to look at Byakuya straight in the eye. “Not a spar, either. Real fight, with everything you've got.” 

“Why?” Byakuya asked, eyes narrowed but that damnable broken smile still tugging at his mouth. 

“Because I am _incandescent_ with rage,” Renji replied, ignoring the way his hands were shaking, “and I need to get it out of my system before I forgive you.” 

“I've not asked for your forgiveness,” Byakuya couldn't help replying, frowning slightly as Renji rolled back to his feet with far too much grace for his bulk. 

“But I want to forgive you,” Renji retorted and offered a hand that Byakuya grasped without hesitation. He took a sharp breath when Renji pulled him up and close to him, one arm firm around his waist. “I want to be your lieutenant and appreciate the fact you trust me enough to drag me along your stupid schemes. I want to sit down and talk and sort shit out so we can move on past this mess and go on being _us_.” Renji took a deep breath and shuddered as he let it out. “You care for me and I want to feel something about it other than this bottomless pit of rage I've been building up for weeks now. So please, _fight me_.” 

Byakuya looked at him and was silent for a long, terribly awkward moment. Renji began to wonder if he'd broken up the tenuous rules of their engagement, when he closed his eyes and sighed almost in relief. 

“Alright.” 

  


* * *

  


Byakuya won, but surprisingly – most of all to Renji – just barely. 

The fight lasted four hours and became a bit of a spectacle. First for the Sixth, but by the end of it, half of the Gotei 13 was perched somewhere around the impromptu arena and making increasingly outrageous bets about it. There was no taunting, however, and no yelling. Not from Byakuya and Renji, at any rate. 

“I'm surprised you didn't demand to join in,” Unohana said, drinking demurely from her cup and seemingly unconcerned by the screaming and jeering from the Eleventh's forces sprawled all around them. 

“Pft, fuck _that_ ,” Zaraki replied, giving her a lopsided smirk, “it's tacky as shit to stick your nose into a lover's spat.” 

She didn't chide him for the comment, if only because watching Ikkaku spit his drink onto Yumichika's face was entertaining enough. She did look at him with a certain amount of displeasure, but they both knew damn well it it was for show. 

  


* * *

  


“Did they throw you out?” Renji asked, the next morning, after the prerequisite five minutes staring at Byakuya still tangled in his bedding and realizing it was not a dream. 

Byakuya opened an eye and looked at him with the precise mixture of exasperation and fondness that made Renji's breathing hitch. He hunched over defensively, hair loose and tattoos bare. 

“Well, you've never... stayed... before,” he explained, feeling supremely awkward as Byakuya sat up and Renji spied the lovely bruise right above his collarbones. “Plus, the...” He waved a hand at his head, gesturing the still missing kenseikan. “So, I don't know. _Did_ they kick you out?” 

Byakuya looked amused, more than anything, which Renji supposed was a good thing. 

“The word you're looking for is disowned,” he said, in that snotty tone Renji knew meant he was mostly teasing and his words carried no real bite to them. “And to answer your question, no, I have not been disowned.” 

Renji squinted at the pause. 

“But...?” 

“But I am currently no longer ruling Head of my Clan,” Byakuya said, hurrying the words out his mouth so he wouldn't have much time to decide how he felt about them. 

Renji stared. 

“Neither is Yoruichi or Kuukaku, for that matter,” Byakuya went on, vaguely ashamed, despite it all, at the little tendril of excitement that the news brought him. He had never really contemplated the burden leadership of the Clan carried, until he'd finally been relieved of it. It terrified him how good it felt. “We... negotiated, after Kuchiki Koga was executed.” Byakuya sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I never did tell you how Kuukaku lost her arm, did I?” 

“No, you didn't,” Renji said, feeling both dread at the prospect of that story, and a persistent warmth in his chest that Byakuya truly felt like sharing. He swallowed hard. “You don't have to, either, if you don't want to.” 

“I was going to marry her,” Byakuya said in lieu of acknowledging that statement, and Renji felt cheated he didn't have a drink to spit clear out his mouth as he spluttered and choked on his own tongue. Byakuya had the gall to look amused. “It was only proper, of course, two children of such noble families like us. We had years to get used to the idea, as well, after we realized there really wasn't a way out of it save murdering each other. We were _friends_ ,” Byakuya emphasized the word bitterly, despite his best intentions, and gave Renji a small shrug when all he did was stare at him. He went on, committed to exorcise his past by forcing himself to speak of it out loud. “Kuukaku had a lover, around that time. Noble born, of course, but not high enough the hierarchy to aspire to marry into one of the Great Noble houses. The wedding was inevitable, and she'd already moved into the Kuchiki estate in preparation for it. I walked in on them arguing and he... panicked.” 

Renji tried to imagine the scene, but all he could do was shudder. Byakuya snorted. 

“He'd come to try and convince Kuukaku to elope, you see, to free her from this monster he envisioned me to be, that was forcing her to marry him out of... I'm not sure, whatever the appropriate evil reason would be.” Despite it all, Renji snickered a bit, as Byakuya rolled his eyes. “He didn't know that I knew, or that I personally arranged for their meetings to happen. The whole point of the argument was that Kuukaku was trying to explain it to him. But he saw me, and he panicked.” Byakuya's expression grew distant and closed off, and Renji pressed closer to him on reflex. “He attacked, ludicrous as that was, and I... reacted. Stopped just barely because Kuukaku would never forgive me if I killed him, and I was a shinigami and he wasn't.” He closed his eyes, expecting the old pain to throb somewhere in his chest. He was surprised when the throb was rather dull, almost easy to ignore. “He stabbed me when my back was turned. I was careless and should have been able to to avoid the strike, really, but he stabbed me and I lashed out.” Renji's hand reached out to grab Byakuya's and he stared at their entwined fingers as he forced the words through his mouth. “Kuukaku stood in the way. He'd stabbed me in the back, but she _loved_ him, and next thing I knew I'd cut through bone and he'd stabbed me _again_.” 

“Fuck,” Renji whispered, quietly perturbed by the small twitch in Byakuya's voice. 

“After that, I do not know what happened first hand, only what I found out after I woke up, several weeks later,” Byakuya shrugged, but it did nothing to hide how awkward he felt about the whole affair. “My Grandfather had been away at the time of the... incident, and the rest of the family took revenge without waiting for his input. I won't bore you with the details or the political mess they made, but by the time I woke, Kuukaku and the Shiba had been exiled formally from the Seireitei and my Grandfather had exiled _himself_ to make sure the Shiba weren't simply slaughtered like cattle. I was my grandfather's heir, so of course the title of Head went to me.” 

Renji found he had a great many things to ask, but no real words to ask them with. So he tightened his hold on Byakuya's hand and buried his face into the crook of his neck. He felt Byakuya shudder, but he didn't move away, and Renji considered that a victory. 

“After we were done, with Koga, Kuukaku named her brother Head of Clan and traded my Grandfather's exile for having me teach Ganju all he'll need to reconnect with the rest of the nobility and return the Shiba Clan back into polite society.” Byakuya smirked. “Once my Grandfather was officially allowed back, the succession issue ceased to exist all together for the Kuchiki. As for Yoruichi, she simply formalized her abandonment of Soul Society and named her brother Head. There was more to do, of course, people moving up and down the hierarchy, particularly now that Central 46 needs to be rebuilt, but I doubt you much care about the politics of _that_.” Byakuya offered a small shrug. “My Grandfather is not even angry, considering everything that happened, and I am more than welcome in the estate, so no. I was not disowned.” 

They laid in silence for a long moment, Byakuya looking almost... pleased about the neatly tied loose ends of their recent disaster, while Renji put his thoughts in order to come up with an opinion on the matter. He wasn't quite sure what he'd expected, but it had clearly not been that. 

“You don't sound... upset,” he said, eventually, unconsciously biting the inside of his lower lip as he tried his best to phrase his thoughts delicately. Renji sucked at delicate. “About not being Head anymore.” 

“I knew it would happen,” Byakuya replied, not looking at him. “I've... had time to adjust to the idea.” 

And be terrified at the implications, he didn't add. He'd made his choice, once he'd figured out what they were against and what needed to be done. He'd committed to it and refused to let himself be bitter about it. But he hadn't expected the strange relief that came from it, the strange sort of freedom that caught him by surprise on his second week locked away in his quarters while his Grandfather took stock of what he'd done to the Clan in his absence. 

Ginrei had looked at him in the eye, after it was all said and done, and told him he'd done the right thing. Byakuya had murmured his thanks and walked back to the Sixth as slowly as he could make himself, if only for the sake of pretending he was not running away. 

“What do you mean you _knew_ it would happen?” Renji asked, suspicious. 

Byakuya smiled. 

“There are limits to what even the Heads of the Great Noble families can do, safeguards to ensue they don't abuse their power.” He offered Renji a resigned little shrug. “To summon a meeting and pledge ourselves to a cause the way we did comes with a price. We knew what would be required, to do what we did.” 

Renji didn't know what to say to that, so he leaned in and kissed Byakuya with all the ferocity he could muster. And then he did it again, when he ran out of breath and still didn't feel like he'd gotten his point across. 

“Renji?” 

“You're an asshole,” Renji said, panting hard, but he was smiling too, and Byakuya found himself reciprocating. “You lie too easily and too often and it infuriates me to no end how good you are at it. You drive me mad with your stupid insistence to pick fights with the Kenpachi. Your goddamn family is insane and stuck up. And if you told me to throw myself onto my sword I wouldn't even ask why before I did it.” 

“...I see?” Byakuya replied, blinking somewhat at the outburst. 

“I just wanted to remind you,” Renji went on, face flushed and endearingly flustered. “I'm still your lieutenant. You're still my Captain. You order, I obey.” 

“Good,” Byakuya breathed, as he tilted his head up to press another kiss – slower, more lingering, the kind that made Renji's skin break into goosebumps – onto Renji's lips. “Because I also convinced Kuukaku to mentor you in kido.” 

  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly done~


	29. Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loose ends are tied up. Renji wants to die. Byakuya expresses himself eloquently in as few words possible.

  


* * *

  


XXIX. Strength. 

  


* * *

  


Renji wondered if he was going to die. 

This was not a particularly concerning realization, to be honest. No panic, no screaming, no angry fists shaking at the sky. Just the quiet realization that he was out of his depth, things were going to shit, and now apparently he was going to die. He hadn’t meant to die just yet, he thought somewhat sullenly, running in a zigzag across the field, leaning so far on each side, he nearly touched the ground, before springing in the opposite direction with a grunt. 

“Gotcha,” Kuukaku cackled, as she appeared round Renji’s last turn and nearly caused him to slam face first into her. 

“Fuck,” Renji swore, dodged a punch that would have probably downed a rampaging rhino with ease, and scrambled away with as little dignity as was left to him. 

Which admittedly wasn’t much, at this point. 

Kuukaku laughed, raised her hand and cast another round of kido that Renji had never even heard of, some ridiculous homing set of fireballs or some other bullshit like that, he didn’t stick around to watch. 

He was going to die. 

He was also going to murder Byakuya. 

Hopefully both at the same time. 

“C’mon, kid,” Kuukaku taunted, leaping off and after him, grin perfectly audible in her voice, “you can do better than this.” 

Renji had thought so, too, in the beginning. He hadn’t really gauged the implications of this little exercise, when Byakuya broke the news to him. Training in kido with one of the foremost experts left in Soul Society? That had seemed almost too good to be true. Renji dodged a gust of wind sharp enough to cut up a rock in half and swallowed back another hysterical cackle as he ran. 

He was not sure why he kept expecting training coming from Byakuya to not make him want to die. It always made him want to die. Convinced him he was going to, when it didn’t. 

“For fuck’s sake, really?” He gasped in outrage, as he dived into the ruins of the Root shrine and figured that would, at the very least, grant him five seconds of respite. 

Kuukaku was already standing there, waiting for him, eyes bright and light sparkling on her fingertips. 

“Too slow,” she said, clicking her tongue, “you could stand to pick something up from Byakuya, in that regard.” Her eyes _glinted_. Renji swallowed hard. “Or maybe we could ask Yoruichi to help with this project of his.” 

Renji was going to die. 

And he was going to murder Byakuya. 

He took off running again, scrambling up the stunted slant of the now-a-cave-sorry-for-that-shrine-whoops entrance and scrambled on hands and knees to get his limbs in place and start another mad dash. 

Kuukaku cackled, the sound loud and clear, brisk and terrible. 

He was so monumentally screwed, it wasn’t even funny. 

  


* * *

  


“She’s not going to actually kill him, is she?” Hebi asked, peering up at Byakuya from the edge of his desk, a petulant frown on his face. 

“Define kill,” Senbonzakura mused, sitting on the windowsill of the office with a decidedly not-Byakuya amount of nonchalance. 

“She’s not going to kill him,” Byakuya said calmly, resolutely, and gave Zabimaru a pointed look. “She’s given her word, in that respect.” 

“He feels like he’s dying,” Saru pointed out a bit skeptical, scowling. 

Byakuya shrugged expansively. 

“Then it’s working,” he said, and dipped the brush in a fresh coating of ink. “Fighting Kuukaku is never fun for anyone, except Kuukaku.” 

“But he’s not going to die, right?” Hebi tried once more, flopping his arms on the edge of the desk and studying Byakuya with sharp, golden eyes and a pointed stare. “Like, not really.” 

“Probably not.” 

“Probably,” Saru snorted, unconvinced. 

“Well, it would technically be her killing him if he dies as a direct result of her training,” Byakuya pointed, sparing her a quick glance, “and she’s promised explicitly not to kill him.” 

“...but?” Saru pressed, leaning on the desk threateningly… well, she meant it that way, but Byakuya was hardly impressed, unfortunately. 

“That does not take into account him wanting to die so much he _actually_ dies,” Byakuya sighed, lips twitching into a slight scowl. “He’ll be fine,” he said after a moment, dismissing the sentiment and the thought at once, and offered another shrug. “He’s stronger than he knows.” 

“Yes, he is,” Saru sighed, at the same time Hebi snorted a quiet, “ _sure_ he is.” 

“At any rate,” Byakuya went on, placing the freshly finished page to the side, to dry, “it’s not kido training that you should be worried about.” 

  


* * *

  


“Do you _want_ me dead?” Renji asked, walking into the office with that same ruffled entitlement of his that Byakuya knew he shouldn’t find entertaining, but always did. 

Technically, the office was as much Renji’s at it was his own, but it was generally accepted that a Captain could do with it what they wanted, and the lieutenant usually just went along with it without much complaint. Renji had never let him have anything without complaints, which was probably why Byakuya was so terribly fond of him. 

“Not particularly, no,” Byakuya said, and looked over Renji with a tiny, near invisible smirk. “Why? Have you done something to deserve it?” 

Renji looked exhausted and two quarters dead, as it was. His uniform was impeccable, but only because it was a different one than the one Kuukaku had torn to shreds that morning. Byakuya had agreed to pay the tab to that, when he informed Renji of his new regime, and Renji had not been wise enough to see the warning sign in that, that he should have. He looked stiff and irritated, and Byakuya resisted a childish urge to snicker - which he hadn’t done, truly done, in far too many decades to count - as he arched an eyebrow, inviting a rebuke. 

“Greatest. Fucking. Asshole.” Renji said shortly, looking unimpressed. “You’re buying me dinner for that.” 

He expected Byakuya to offer a quip back, token protest at the very least. Byakuya leaned back against his chair and looked entirely too unruffled for Renji’s nerves. 

“Do you have something in mind?” He asked, and tilted his chin up a tad, when Renji glared suspiciously. “I have yet to receive a complaint from someone who isn’t you, or Zabimaru, I would say that is a statement in itself, about your performance.” 

Renji blinked. 

“...thanks?” 

Byakuya gave him a ghost of the old, indolent and smug Kuchiki look that haunted Renji’s nightmares when he woke up alone and wondered if he’d dreamed the whole thing up. 

“Then again, your performance is a reflection of my leadership,” he said, perfectly deadpan, “nothing less could be expected.” 

Renji snorted. 

“Yeah, you’re buying me dinner _and_ drinks,” he replied, mouth twitching stubbornly as it tried to fall into the familiar teasing smirk. He refrained, because it was a matter of principles. “Like, _a lot_ of drinks.” 

“That could be arranged,” Byakuya agreed, and then the joke cracked and the left side of his lip twitched minutely up into a ghost of a smile. “You’re not going to die, Renji.” 

“I know,” Renji sighed, shoulders slumping as he walked the four steps required to go and sit on a corner of Byakuya’s desk. “I’m… not actually fucking this up. I just keep expecting to.” 

“I have utmost faith in your abilities,” Byakuya promised, and allowed himself to be pulled forward as Renji reached a hand for his face and leaned in to kiss him. Byakuya snorted against his lips. “And if everything else fails, do remind yourself that you wanted to be trained, so the folly is solely yours.” 

“Dinner, drinks _and_ breakfast,” Renji said, biting down on Byakuya’s lower lip. “And maybe I’ll forgive you for locking me up in a room with Unohana-taicho for two hours.” 

Byakuya did not point out that he was already planning on that. He was not a tactical genius for nothing, after all. 

“Deal.” 

  


* * *

  


Four months after the Zanpakuto rebellion, as it had come to be known, Kurosaki Isshin came to visit the Seireitei. 

By this point, Renji was resigned - and more than a little used to - to splitting his time between running the Sixth and the eclectic training schedule that Byakuya had provided. Renji found himself uncomfortably apprenticed to several Captain for things that didn’t really seem to have much to do with being a Captain, if he was perfectly honest. And then there was Kuukaku, who never relinquished the pleasure of putting the fear of her into someone. Renji wondered if the Kuchiki gardens were ever going to turn back to their former splendor at that rate. But nonetheless, he was surviving. More than that, to be honest, he was improving. He didn’t really have a clue if any of those improvements - besides kido, which yes, he was getting better at, because fear for one’s life was an excellent teacher apparently - were going to do for him in the long run. 

He thought about this often, in the stolen quiet moments during the day, in between one breath and the next, but he thought it hardest when Kurosaki Isshin visited the Seireitei and walked leisurely up the steps into the Sixth’s barracks and Renji felt more than saw Byakuya’s entire being clench and brace himself for impact. 

“Nephew!” Isshin said, loud enough he couldn’t not be heard, grinning in the face of Byakuya’s best glare. “All going well, I hope?” 

Behind Isshin, a large, flaming ape followed, its features nowhere near as deceptively friendly as the former head of the Tenth’s. It grinned, and Renji found himself twitching a little, because when Saru grinned like that, bad things happened. Lots and lots of them. 

“As well as expected,” Byakuya said, keeping his face blank and his eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?” 

Isshin shrugged. 

“I wanted to bask in the glory and warmth of your personality,” he said, and the corner of Byakuya’s left eyebrow twitched minutely. “Also ask a favor.” 

“A favor,” Byakuya repeated, squinting ever so slightly. 

“Just a tiny one,” Isshin said, grinning, “and we both know you’ll agree, because I’m your favorite uncle.” Byakuya’s spirit pressure twitched slightly. Isshin grinned, teasing. “Oh, should I remind you _why_ I’m your favorite uncle?” 

Renji took a good look at Isshin’s face and realized the expression would not be out of place on Zaraki’s. It just wasn’t quite as deranged, but the spirit of it… he shuddered. 

“I literally just finished wrapping up paperwork for the courtyard repairs,” Renji said, conspicuously leaning in to whisper to Byakuya’s ear. “Please.” 

Isshin’s Engetsu made a rude, taunting gesture at Senbonzakura, right at that moment, and Zabimaru scrambled to hold the samurai back with the chain and their limbs. 

“Not in the Division’s grounds!” They cried, with none of Renji’s poor attempts at subtlety. “ _Not in the Division’s grounds!”_

Standing atop the archway at the entrance of the division, Kyouraku and Ukitake looked at each other and smirked. 

“Bless their hearts,” Kyouraku said, eyebrows arched, as Renji continued to hiss at Byakuya and Isshin continued to grin, while Zabimaru wrapped themselves onto Senbonzakura and Engetsu stuck a finger into his ear, “but they really think they’re being subtle, don’t they.” 

“You just say that,” Ukitake said chidingly, but without bite, “because you still haven’t beaten Renji at mahjong.” 

“Juushirou,” he replied, mock offended, “I would never!” 

Then Zaraki walked in. 

  


* * *

  


“I’m going to miss this,” Renji said, sitting under a tree with Hebi dozing off on his lap and Saru perched on a nearby branch. 

Kurosaki Isshin had been called because he had been the one to reverse the effects of Muramasa’s shikai two hundred years ago, and now he was expected to do it again. He was willing too, despite his need to tease Byakuya, taunt Zaraki into a fight and then foster that fight onto Renji at the last moment. No one had been more surprised than Renji to realize that Zaraki thought he was good enough prey, though that paled in comparison to the realization that he hadn’t been defeated neither as quickly nor as soundly as he would have expected, when he’d been still serving in the Eleventh. 

Byakuya had looked irritatingly smug about that, but Renji had been entirely too pleased with himself - and entirely too exhausted - to really do much more than smirk wryly at the whole thing. 

“We’re not going anywhere,” Saru said, dropping a leg to swing it in Renji’s general direction. “We’re just not…” 

“Yeah,” Renji sighed, tilting his head back against the tree to give her a small smirk. “On the upside, you can’t really bitch about strength anymore.” 

Saru smirked. 

“We’ll see.” 

  


* * *

  


Abarai had gotten stronger. 

Zaraki pondered the thought slowly, twisting it in his head like a marble in a child’s hand. It was to be expected, of course. Part of the reason why he’d sent the lanky bag of neurotic bullshit over to the Sixth was the realization that he’d grown all he was ever going to grow, in the Eleventh. Abarai didn’t have the commitment to stay, like Yumichika or Ikkaku did, sworn to die for the Eleventh for as long as he led them. Abarai had still been figuring out what he wanted for himself, and when Zaraki had realized there was nowhere else for him to go, he’d fostered him over to Kuchiki. 

Retsu had been crossed at him about it, like she’d been crossed at him when he’d swept in and taken the kid from under Aizen’s nose. Even back then, before the truth reared its ugly, fucked up face, Zaraki had known Abarai was wasted in the Fifth. So he’d taken the kid, beaten him blue and purple, and once he’d grown enough of a spine, he’d shoved him to the Sixth to see if that would be enough. 

Clearly, it had been. 

He hadn’t managed to draw blood, but it had been a damn near thing that, and Zaraki found himself smirking to himself about it, an odd sense of pride about it. He looked over to the dresser, where Minazuki was carefully running a brush down the length of her mistress’ hair. 

“We could still fight,” he found himself saying, dropping his eyes to the nameless blade propped up against the wall. “Before…” 

Minazuki raised their head, shadows twisting beneath the cloth covering their face, and Zaraki thought that looked like interest, up until Retsu looked at him sharply through the mirror. 

His throat itched, where she’d slit it, and there was a pulse of something restless carefully tracing circles in the pit of his stomach. 

“Not today,” she said, as she dropped her eyes and raised a hand to finger first her lips, and then down her chin to her throat and the starburst scar there. “One day.” 

Zaraki shifted in the bed and scratched his side lazily. It took Minazuki another minute before they started brushing again. 

“Didn’t fight half bad,” Zaraki said, after a long silence, once the tension had dissipated properly and he could rebuild it at his leisure, “Isane. Didn’t fight half bad at all.” 

“I’m aware,” the Captain of the Fourth replied, voice terse and measured, and Zaraki thought of water dripping down a rock, carving up a trail. 

“She could be better, though,” Zaraki went on, regardless of the glint in her eyes. Then he laughed. “Gotta give it to Kuchiki-hime,” he said, snorting. “Now he’s raised the bar and everyone’s going to start trying to make their lieutenants stronger.” 

“Isane is not your lieutenant,” Retsu said crisply, eyebrows arched slightly. 

Zaraki shrugged. 

“Mine can’t exactly get stronger, now can she?” 

Retsu thought about it, lips pursed as she considered her options. 

“No,” she said, finally, “I suppose she can’t.” 

  


* * *

  


Renji stood among his fellow lieutenants and their Captains, inhaling the sweet smoke and ignoring the rich warmth of kido wrapping up around them and their zanpakuto spirits. Isshin sat at the center of the room, muttering under his breath and layering spells over and over as he conducted the ritual with a solemn look on his face. 

“It was fun,” Zabimaru whispered, half words, half a whisper in the back of Renji’s mind, as they began to melt into the mist. 

“I know,” Renji told them, and watched them vanish with a smile. 

It was probably for the best, he thought, and felt a pang of familiar, amused warmth in the back of his mind, clear and poignant that did not contradict it. 

  


* * *

  


“This was your mother’s,” Renji said, holding the black bandana almost reverently. He stared at Byakuya as he slowly and fastidiously shrugged off his clothes and left them in small heaps around Renji’s floor. Renji was too focused on that tidbit of knowledge to get distracted, though. “You gave me your mother’s weird Noble house magical heirloom.” 

“Yes,” Byakuya replied, one eyebrow arched as he wrapped himself up in the pale blue yukata he favored for sleeping. 

“...why did you give me your mother’s weird Noble house magical heirloom?” Renji asked, when Byakuya decided to be… well, Byakuya about the matter. 

“I wished you to have it,” he replied, sitting down on Renji’s bedding with an ease of familiarity that normally made the inside of Renji’s lungs feel like they were full of bubbling water. At the moment, he forced himself to ignore it, though Byakuya offering a tiny wry smile made it remarkably difficult. “It was also most useful, at the time.” 

Renji stared and thought and then stared some more. 

“...that technique you told me about,” he said after a moment, “when I started Houriki training. You meant to train me so I could use this properly.” 

Byakuya met his eyes and nodded. 

“Yes.” 

Renji made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. 

“This is your mother’s,” he hissed, holding onto the folded square of black fabric like it was made of glass, “and I’ve been wearing it every day.” 

“I’m aware,” Byakuya replied, arching an eyebrow at Renji’s expression. 

“In fights and training and _stuff_ ,” Renji insisted. Byakuya gave him a pointed look. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” 

Byakuya offered the faint ghost of a shrug. 

“The right time never presented itself.” His lips twitched, like a smirk but not quite. “You can give it back, if you don’t want it.” 

“No!” Renji snapped, pulling it close as if Byakuya were about to snatch it away. He flushed under the scrutiny the little outburst got him. “No,” he said, quieter, swallowing hard. “No, I will keep it.” 

“And you’ll continue wearing it,” Byakuya prompted, not quite a question, but not exactly a command. 

Renji didn’t immediately reply. He turned and carefully hung the bandana from the hilt of his zanpakuto, from where it perched off the wall. Then he went to kneel by Byakuya’s side, reached out and kissed him purposefully. 

“I’ve been walking into the manor wearing that for months now,” Renji said, as they broke apart, face flushed but full of something awed and tender. 

“Yes,” Byakuya said, quiet, basking in the warmth and the dawning realization slowly sliding down Renji’s expression. 

“Your grandfather’s seen me wearing it,” Renji went on, licking his lips. 

“Yes.” 

“Your _uncle_ saw me wearing it.” 

Byakuya offered a small shrug. 

“Yes.” 

Renji kissed him again, pressing him against the bedding as he laid his body over his and attempted to coil himself around him at the same time. 

Nothing else needed to be said, after that. 

  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...whoops. Might have forgotten about this for a bit there, what with work literally eating my soul. Sorry about that.


	30. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuya and Renji make peace with the fact they're now a whole that is more than the sum of its parts. (Also they make peace with various degrees of shovel talks.)

  


* * *

  


XXX. Together. 

  


* * *

  


Kuchiki Ginrei was pretty damn intimidating when he wanted to be, but Renji found himself more often than not at ease in his presence, for the simple reason that he knew where he stood and whose side he was on – Byakuya's, always – so the actual politics of it didn't really interest him much. 

“I wonder, sometimes,” Ginrei told him, stormy eyes narrowed and calculative, as Renji stood in his study – it was Byakuya's study, in his mind, and it'd never not be, not since New Year's celebration and all the terribly wonderful things they'd done in it. “If you know what you've committed yourself to.” 

“Not really,” Renji told him, sincerely because Byakuya had told him honesty was always the best policy to deal with his grandfather – assume he knows the worst already and there's no point in trying to hide it, he usually does, Byakuya had said, with a wry little smile and a small shrug in the face of the summons – and Renji trusted him, not blindly, but close enough. “Doesn't really matter, though, from where I'm standing.” 

“In choosing you,” Ginrei said, blunt and factual and yet not awkward in the slightest, which Renji thought unfair, deep in the back of his head, “he's effectively insulted every single family who offered a suitable bride for him. You're everything they hate and that is not a slight they will forgive.” 

Renji shrugged eloquently. 

“ _He_ doesn't hate me,” he pointed out, because that was the truly important thing, from his perspective. 

“He will,” Ginrei replied, vicious, “if you decide you can't withstand the storm and decide to leave him in the end.” 

Renji decided that, as far as it went, this was probably the weirdest shovel talk he'd ever endured. 

“I promised I'd stay, so long as he'll have me,” Renji said, shrugging again. “All due respect, Kuchiki-sama, but everyone else can fuck right off if they don't like it.” 

  


* * *

  


“I need to tell you something, about your brother.” 

Rukia looked up to find Renji standing by the doorway, looking tense and awkward, and she couldn't help but feel herself brightening up about it. She mastered herself enough to make her expression inviting, rather than outright gleeful, but, she thought a little unkindly, it was about damn time. 

“Did you fight again?” She asked innocently, because it was expected of her, even though she knew damn well they hadn't had an actual fight since Byakuya had returned to claim the Sixth, after giving up clan leadership and wrapping up the last loose ends about the Zanpakuto rebellion. 

“Of course not, we're-” Renji began, and then stopped, squinting. Rukia did her best to look suitably curious, but the ruse did not last long, given the way Renji's face flushed instantly. “You _knew_ ,” he hissed at her, mortified tone at odds with the accusing tilt of his voice. 

Rukia gave in and snorted, rolling her eyes at her. 

“ _Of course_ I knew,” she retorted, one eyebrow arched, “he's my _brother_. _You're_ my brother. I'd need to be blind, deaf and daft to not notice.” 

“Why didn't you say anything!” Renji asked, stomping further into the room and stubbornly ignoring the pang of warmth in his chest at her words. “All these months, and I... you could have said something!” 

“ _You_ could have said something,” Rukia replied, looking unimpressed and reaching a hand to tug him hard down, to sit at her side. “Nii-sama did.” 

“He _what!_ ” Renji squeaked, flustered, and then glowered when she laughed. “I'm going to kill him.” 

“No, you're not,” Rukia sighed, leaning into his side to hug him as his arms fell around her almost on reflex. 

“...no, I'm not,” Renji said morosely, pacified by the embrace and also the stubborn coil of warmth somewhere beneath his lungs. “Did he really...?” 

“In a way, yes,” Rukia said, smiling faintly. “In _his_ way, that is. After... when you disappeared. He was a wreck until you came back, and then afterwards... if I hadn't believed him then, I couldn't deny it, after all that. He trusts you.” 

“...I know,” Renji replied, swallowing hard. “It's actually really terrifying to realize it's not just me who thinks that.” 

Rukia laughed a little, because she knew the feeling. It was no small thing, in her experience, to be granted Kuchiki Byakuya's trust. It was an honor as great as it was heavy, sometimes. But she knew for a fact Renji could handle it. For one thing, because his trust was as heavy and worthwhile, and she'd seen the way it made her brother change, ever so slightly, as he tried his best to bear it honorably. 

“I'm in love with your brother,” Renji said after a long, long moment, not quite sure what he expected to happen when he said it out loud, but somehow humbled by the truthfulness of the words as they passed through his mouth. “And I think... I think he might actually love me back.” 

“You're both so silly,” Rukia sighed contently, leaning back enough to look at him in the eye. 

“Don't you mean I'm being silly and making him look bad by extension?” Renji joked, smirking self-deprecatingly, but she didn't let him, raising a hand to touch his cheek affectionately, before she flicked her fingers on his forehead, over the black bandanna he was certain he was going to wear til the day he died. 

“No,” she said, lips twitching, “no, this time, I think it's entirely mutual.” There was a pause. “Well this is awkward.” 

Renji pulled back immediately. 

“I'm sorry!” He said, waving his hands. “I didn't... I just... I...” 

Rukia blinked at him, caught on his train of thought and then rolled her eyes at him before reaching out with her hand to shove his shoulder roughly. 

“Not that, you idiot,” she snorted, “you're my brother, it's not awkward if you hug me.” She paused. “Just don't hug me anywhere any stray Kuchiki nobles can see or they'll start on that dumb you-should-marry-Renji tirade again, and I literally just managed to talk them out of it last month. The fact they think me marrying you would somehow make you and Nii-sama not be a thing anymore, somehow, makes them extremely tenacious.” 

Renji squinted somewhat, assaulted by the mental image of Rukia smiling politely and laughing girlishly as she dodged pointed inquiries from her family. He was belatedly surprised by the fact the idea of... marrying her didn't register first and foremost, and by the pointed lack of enthusiasm on his part about it. It seemed like a bad joke, he thought, that after everything, here she was, casually and off-handedly joking about something he'd spend many years forcefully not letting himself think about, and now that her family, the greatest obstacle in his mind about it, was completely on board with the idea, Renji himself was as awkwardly not into it, as Rukia. 

She just wasn't the Kuchiki he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, anymore. 

“Oh, god,” Renji muttered, burying his face in his hands. 

He had it _so bad_. 

Oh, he knew he had it bad, before. He'd stuck with the training from hell, after all, despite how much it made him want to die. He'd stuck around even when the spars with Zaraki became a thing that needed to be scheduled and planned around. But this... this was something else and he wasn't sure he knew how to handle it.. 

Rukia shoved his shoulder again. 

“Oi,” she said, scowling, “being married to me would be amazing, don't sound so disappointed!” 

Renji snorted. 

“No, not that,” he sighed, and then stuck out his tongue at her when she glared suspiciously. “But you go first, what's awkward about this?” 

“You mean besides everything by virtue of your involvement?” Rukia asked teasingly, and dodged the hand reaching out to ruffle her hair. “I promised myself I'd come clean to you if you came clean to me. So. I might have been keeping a secret from you... _and_ Nii-sama. And if I tell you, you have to promise you're not telling anyone. Anyone, Renji! Specially Nii-sama.” She wrinkled her nose. “You see the awkward, I suppose.” 

Renji narrowed his eyes at her, but his mouth was still half-pulled into a smile. 

“...is this going to make your brother angry?” 

Rukia laughed. 

“Absolutely.” 

“Yeah,” Renji snorted, “but is he going to be mad because you're gonna end up dead, or is he going to be mad because he would have wanted to help?” 

“The second,” Rukia replied with a shrug and a small wince. “Mostly.” 

Renji sighed. 

“I'm really in love with your brother,” Renji said, in lieu of asking, and offered an awkward, vulnerable smile that made Rukia swallow back her joke. “Really, really in love with him.” 

Rukia threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. 

“I started Bankai training with Yoruichi and Urahara two months ago.” 

Renji laughed and hugged her back. 

“Well, _shit_.” 

  


* * *

  


Byakuya went through his days the same he'd always had, striving for perfection and demanding as close to it as was possible, from those under his command. The Sixth recovered from the utter destruction well enough, and deep down he knew it was because the Sixth was the people, not the buildings. He kept the thought to himself, though, because he recognized the childishness of the notion, but that did not stop him from believing it to be true. He watched life fall back into place easily enough, and found he wasn't entirely dreading being confronted by the realization, as it caught up across the Gotei 13. 

Most of his fellow Captains had the decency to not mention it, or better yet, not care about it. Anyone else did not have the rank, the courage or the suicidal need to comment on it, and thus he did not care about it. Truly, he didn't. He spent most of his nights in Renji's quarters and waking up in a tangle of hair and limbs was well worth everything else. 

And then, there was Shinji. 

“Don't fuck him up,” he told him, with a casual shrug and a slight variation of his usual smirk. Even after Byakuya pressed, incensed at the fact someone dared address the matter directly, all Shinji would say was, “he's not made to handle it, being fucked up. He's an honest kid, Kuchiki-taicho, so don't fuck him up.” 

But that, despite Byakuya's attempts to pry any more out of the Captain of the Fifth, was that. 

Byakuya contemplated the warning – he knew it for what it was, if nothing else because he was not fooled by Hiraki Shinji's ridiculous farce of being someone he wasn't – but ultimately dismissed it. Men in glass houses, Byakuya had concluded unkindly, standing atop the wall separating the Sixth and the Fifth, as he watched Hirako Shinji and Kurotsuchi Mayuri walk leisurely down the garden path, arguing all the while, should really not throw any stones. 

“I am surprised you don't have anything to say on the matter,” Byakuya mused, subtly trying to get his breathing back in control and looking over to where Kenpachi was sprawled comfortably on the floor. “Everyone else seems to.” 

“What's there to say?” The Captain of the Eleventh replied, after a thoughtful silence. “You cut him down but he left a mark on you, and now you won't ever get rid of the little shit. That's how you know it's gonna last.” 

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. 

“That's...” he began, fumbling for something more suitable, but found nothing more than, “almost comforting.” 

Zaraki laughed. It was as loud as his usual cackles, but nowhere near as mocking. It made hair stand on end, on the back of Byakuya's neck, much as he forced himself to pretend it didn't. 

“It always is,” Zaraki told him, fingering the scar on his face almost thoughtfully, “even if you rather it wasn't.” 

Byakuya decided he liked his... acquaintance with Zaraki to remain focused strictly on fighting. Everything was so much easier when one could simply dismiss the great brute as a deranged beast, after all. 

But Zaraki's smile didn't reassure him too much on that matter. 

  


* * *

  


“So you and Kuchiki, huh?” Shinji told Renji, much much later, well after the fuss had died out among the Captains. 

Renji missed a step, tripped, and landed face first on the ground. 

“Look on the bright side, Renji,” Shinji said, lightly toeing Renji's side as he grinned. “At least he's stopped trying to kill you outright.” 

Renji gave him a dirty look. 

“Are we talking about me?” He asked, as he sat up, “or are you projecting again, about that insane quest of yours?” 

“Testy, testy,” Shinji laughed, “just 'cause I'm getting laid more than you doesn't mean you gotta be mean, Renji-kun.” He dodged the kick with a grin. “Do you want me to give you pointers? Get you condoms? I'm sure Mayuri would be _delighted_ to widen his test subject pool on that front. He's very creative.” 

Renji made a choked noise of outrage in the back of his throat and lunged at him. Shinji laughed and didn't wipe the floor with him, in the spar that followed. Not because he couldn't, Renji was well aware, but because he was an obnoxious twit and also his friend. 

  


* * *

  


The look on Byakuya's face when Rukia was named lieutenant of the Thirteenth was one of the most amazing things Renji had ever seen in his life. 

It was absolutely worth the spat that followed immediately afterwards, when Byakuya realized Renji was not at all surprised by the announcement. 

“The thing is,” Renji told him, lying on the ground by his side as he caught his breath and feeling incredibly validated by the fact Byakuya had acquiesced to sit down on the ground as they recovered from the aftermath of obliterating the Sixth's training grounds, again. “She's your sister. I get that. I respect that. But she's my sister too.” 

He didn't say, she was my sister first, even though it was true, because he wasn't trying to provoke Byakuya into another round. Byakuya heard the unsaid, nonetheless, and appreciated the fact it remained that way. 

“I can see the resemblance,” Byakuya said, after a long moment of silence, choosing his words carefully as he refused to meet Renji's eyes and see the expression on his face. He sighed. “But if she wants to be trained...” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Renji sat up abruptly. “Don't pull that shit. I wanted to be trained by you. She didn't. Don't go about trying to get her killed!” 

Renji realized he'd been had when he heard the low, short chuckle escape Byakuya's lips. He spluttered, even as a hand reached to hold his face, tilting it up. 

“Have you not grown strong, under my watch?” Byakuya asked, eyes half-lidded as he leaned in, if only because it made Renji splutter harder. Well, mostly because of that, but also because he felt like kissing his lieutenant, in the aftermath of that fight, and he knew damn well he no longer had any reason not to. “Is that what you're saying?” 

“I'm saying you're an _asshole_ ,” Renji growled, face flaming as he reached out to sink his fingers into Byakuya's hair and pulled him down to kiss him hard. “Rukia doesn't deserve to deal with that.” 

“Is that so?” Byakuya murmured, not in the least displeased by the outburst. 

“ _Ahem_.” 

They looked up to find Hotaru standing a dozen feet away, looking unimpressed. 

“Seriously?” She asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. “ _Seriously_. And where the hell am I supposed to hold drills with the unseated this afternoon?” 

Renji burst out laughing. Byakuya attempted to glare her down but, as it had been the case since he'd returned to take his seat at the head of the Division, it didn't quite work the way it used to. 

“Language,” he said, decidedly not even the least bit taken aback by the look she sent his way. “Third Seat.” 

“My bad, Taicho,” Hotaru deadpanned, the exact opposite of contrite. “Where the _fuck_ am I supposed to hold drills with the unseated this afternoon?” 

Byakuya did not laugh. Of course he didn't. But he felt the urge nonetheless, and some of it must have shown on his face, somehow, because Hotaru's expression turned wry. The Sixth was its people, not its buildings, and Byakuya found he was viscerally glad that was the case. 

“I have utmost faith in your ingenuity,” he said, causing Renji to let out another burst of laughter, and Hotaru to sigh in defeat. 

“Well,” Hotaru said, shaking her head, “of course you do. This is the Sixth, after all, anything less would be unbecoming.” 

  


* * *

  


Eventually, the news trickled down to the lieutenants. It wasn't so much a secret, as something generally assumed no one else's business, given it was very much Kuchiki-taicho's business. Renji's fellow lieutenants were a lot less restrained than their Captains, but also not stupid enough to point their opinions at Byakuya directly. Renji braced and braced and braced, but most he got were congratulations, a few squinty looks and the occasional look of wary respect. 

And then there was Shuhei. 

“You're insane,” the lieutenant of the Ninth told him, over the tall stack of papers he was reviewing for the latest edition of _Seireitei Communication_. “You know that, right? Because _you're insane_.” 

“Probably,” Renji replied with a shrug, offering his column for the month. “But, you know... Yeah.” 

“I don't, actually,” Shuhei snorted, “and I'm quite happy to stay that way. Your Captain is terrifying, Renji.” 

“You do realize the same thing could be said about Kensei, right?” Renji pointed out, one eyebrow arched. “I mean, it could be said about any Captain, really.” 

“That is not the point,” Shuhei retorted, slightly flustered. “And Kensei-taicho is not terrifying. He's... inspiring.” 

Renji smiled at him, and said nothing, not even when the other lieutenant of the Ninth landed feet first on his head, loudly demanding Shuhei stopped slacking off. 

  


* * *

  


Days turned into weeks, which turned into months. Before Renji knew it, New Years had come and gone – as had the lavish celebration in the Kuchiki manor, which he'd convinced Byakuya not to skip, despite his misgivings, and which hadn't end up in absolute disaster, despite it all – and so had most of spring. 

Renji found himself expecting things to fail horribly less often, so much so, he had to actively think about it, these days. Mostly he just went along with work, training his Division and looking after his men and his Captain, because no matter how hard he thought about it, he no longer felt out of place. It was his, now, like his tattoos and Zabimaru, that shapeless feeling of belonging that encompassed everything in his life at the moment. His training, his Division, even his paperwork. There was a sense of right to it, that permeated everything he did, and at the center of it, Byakuya's stoic face and the thousand tiny things he did, that Renji couldn't not notice now, to show he cared. 

For his part, Byakuya was increasingly aware of the callousness that slowly seeped away from him, with each day he woke up snared in Renji's arms. He fought Zaraki viciously each day, if only to prove to the snide whisper in the back of his head, that his strength did not wane along with it. And it didn't, clearly, because he knew Zaraki would cut him down mercilessly if that were the case. But he found it in himself to... tolerate many things he would have never thought himself capable of, and concluded, as the Sixth closed ranks further around them and continued their arduous work with such fervor, that perhaps there was a place for that kind of softness. And thus Byakuya accepted that this, though lacking the unbridled passion he once felt for his late wife, was still a kind of love that did not seem likely to wither any time soon. 

Life was good, was the thing, and given the only thing that had truly changed between then and now was their shared commitment to each other, they had no option but to accept life was good because they were committed to each other. 

They had waited for it to fade, and it hadn't. They had waited for the other to stumble, and he hadn't. And now all they had left, despite their misgivings and their history, was to embrace it, because they knew very well how rare it was, to find something like it. 

“Renji,” Byakuya said, stopping the movement of the fingers playing with Renji's hair. 

Renji looked up, drowsy at first, but then alert as he realized the set of Byakuya's jaw. He followed his line of sight and blinked at the butterfly hovering by the window. 

“So much for our day off, huh?” He sighed, sitting up. 

The corner of Byakuya's lip twitched as he stretched a hand and beckoned the insect closer. 

“Ah,” was all Byakuya said, after the message was complete. 

Renji laughed and nudged his face with his forehead, not unlike a cat. 

“Don't look so excited,” he said, grinning as Byakuya didn't bother to hide the small smirk on his face. “Knowing Ichigo, who can tell what trouble he's gotten himself into this time?” 

Byakuya dragged his fingers through Renji's hair. 

“I suppose we must go find out.” 

Renji tilted up his head and caught Byakuya's lips with his own, languid. 

“Let's.” 

Whatever mess was coming – and it had to be a mess, Ichigo was involved – they'd weather the storm together. 

  


* * *

  


_The End._

  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's it. I did write the bones of a sequel which is mostly just a one-shot dealing with the aftermath of the manga's ending, but I'll probably post that later. Also a ton of porn I started and never finished for this verse. Whoops.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it! Thank you for sticking around all the way through.

**Author's Note:**

> Should I be starting a new series? Probably not. But who can't resist these dolts and their stupid interpersonal fail? I have a rough idea of what I want to do with this, so let's see how long it takes me to get through with it.
> 
> I just can't resist making Renji's life hard.
> 
> Also, because Fi has terrible ideas, [feel free to poke me over in tumblr if you want to request a short ficlet about this verse.](http://notavodkashot.tumblr.com/ask)


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